Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The merits of first degree murder are looking pretty appealing right about now. However, is Ace really worth the consequent life sentence? The answer is no, he is not. That is why Dazai isn’t planning on getting caught filleting him like a fish! Duh, as easy as that. And if by some chance not getting caught doesn’t work, then there’s always an indefinite trip to Argentina. Worked for the Nazis, why wouldn’t it work for him? He’s not a Nazi, just a bit of an asshole but who isn’t nowadays?

In retrospect he should have known better before talking to him. What type of man was he expecting to meet in a bar in the middle of the day on a Tuesday? Is there any wonder he ran into Ace that way? At first Dazai was not interested, telling him as much. But damn it, the unfounded confidence was interesting. It’s not often he gets to meet such a deluded individual. At first he humored the conversation to pass the time, maybe see what makes the man tick. His enormous ego was untouchable, Ace was under the impression that everyone else was beneath him. Dazai thought that was interesting as well. What type of circumstances cause a man to be like this?

Ace wasn’t that bad at first—a good lay, interesting conversationalist and attractive enough to not bore him immediately. Dazai was even starting to find his eccentricities a bit charming. It’s not often people get his attention and keep it to themselves. When he was asked out he said yes and on the few dates they went on it was fun. Dazai begrudgingly started reciprocating his feelings and faster than he thought, he was in an honest to god relationship. Some days it was harder to act like he cared, but that’s totally normal, right?

Besides, it was nice having someone to sleep with that didn’t need the introductory class of: “no touching the bandages, don’t fucking bite me, socks and birthday suit combo is a no-go and for the love of god, whispering ‘yeah, you like that?’ is a major turn off.”

Looking forward to dates was nice, something to brighten up his week, maybe even put off the occasional suicide ideation and the tentative follow-through.

Apparently Dazai is a giant fucking dumbass. 

Apparently that domesticity was all an illusion. 

And apparently, that cretin is garbage that should not be given the time of day.

Dazai deigned to give him a chance with his hot ass and he goes and sleeps with another man? The audacity—the gall even! Dazai is an absolute ten out of ten, discounting personality which he will graciously take a solid seven and a half on, and Ace just took this once in a lifetime opportunity and threw it in his face. What’s worse is that Dazai didn’t even know about his infidelity until it was staring at him in the face. Ace—that fucking jackass—with his arm around a shortstack. Both of them walking down the street with Ace kissing the stranger’s neck.

Oh, get a fucking room.

Let it never be said Dazai is predictable, because as much as he loves to plan and pick apart the things he likes and dislikes, he is also not above irrational outbursts.

Before the happy couple can disappear around the corner Dazai makes a snap decision. 

Screw ‘em.

Dazai darts across traffic, barely making it in one piece, and yells, “ACE, BABY!”

People everywhere turn to look at him like he’s crazy, but the only eyes he cares about are his ex boyfriend’s. Pallid and shocked stupid, Ace attempts to put some distance between himself and the stranger. “Ah, hey there, uh, Da- um, dude?”

His right hand curls into a fist. “Dude?” he repeats in innocent confusion. “Is that any way to call your husband?”

That last part was a last minute addition, but by the way the onlookers begin to whisper, he thinks it was a good idea.

The guy next to Ace—who is sadly not unfortunate looking, and is actually kinda hot—takes a step away, arms crossed over his chest. “Husband, huh?”

“What?!” Ace shouts. “Of course not! We’re not fucking married!”

“Ha, well, forgive me if I don’t trust a word out of your dumb whore mouth."

Dazai whistles in appreciation. “You know Ace, when I said we couldn’t have a dog because of my allergies, that didn’t mean you could go pick one right off the street.”

The stranger turns slowly. “Fucking excuse me?” (What do you know, he has blue eyes. Huh.)

“Oh, forgive me. Is the correct term nowadays ‘bitch?’”

The stranger laughs. "Oh, screw you, you lanky bastard. Come here I'll show you who's the bitch."

"How forward!" he says bashfully. "And in public too! Ace should really train his dog on public indecency.”

"Dazai this isn't what it looks like."

"Oh?" the stranger says. "Explain it to us then- and for the love of god, those that have not had sex with this man fuck off somewhere else!" The people loitering around for the full scoop of gossip reluctantly disperse. "Nosy bottom feeders," the stranger mutters under his breath.

Ace wipes the sweat from his big ass forehead. "Well, you see, uhm. What happened is that uh... Well Chuuya is just a-"

"If you say 'friend' so help me god-"

"The shorty is a friend, huh?" The anger simmers and Dazai smiles. "Did you meet him during recess? Is he the fastest runner in class? If you tell me your crush I'll tell you mine."

Chuuya grits his teeth. "You slimy piece of shit, what are you insinuating?!"

"You're short."

"You're ugly."

Ace brings up his hands. "Guys?"

"What," they snap in unison. Dazai recoils in disgust, how dare that shorty copy him.

"Okay, okay. It's true, I've been seeing you both at the same time. I'm sorry."

Tense seconds crawl by.

"That's it?"

Dazai loathes to agree with the mistress but- "Can that even be considered an apology?"

Chuuya shrugs. "He did say sorry."

"Personally, I don’t think it's an apology without a bit of sobbing. Maybe even a blood offering to really sell it."

Chuuya wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Is that really necessary, I don’t want his stinky ass blood anywhere near me. It’s bad enough that he slobbers all over me during sex.”

Dazai scoffs. “And here I thought I was special, Ace. I’m so hurt.”

“Maybe the dog here is actually Ace,” Chuuya says. “He slobbers, he pees where he’s not supposed to-“

“Lemme guess, the sink?”

Chuuya nods with a sneer. “He doesn’t like to shower, he eats everything and anything.”

“Similarities go on and on.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m standing right here.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dazai sighs, craning his head up. The sky is darkening bit by bit as their lover’s spat goes on. He misses his bed. Maybe if he’s up to it he can burn some of Ace’s stuff. Hm. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. 

“This has been a horrible experience,” he says with finality, the other two stare at him with varying degrees of surprise. “I’m outta here. See you never, Ace. I’m burning all your stuff, don’t expect anything back and please, oh please, lose my number or I’m calling your mom and outing you.”

He turns to leave, uncaring of the continuing conversation between Ace and his soon to be ex. Two blocks away he’s stopped by someone yelling his name. He ignores it the first two times before the shorty decides to play dirty. 

“Yo! The guy with the flat ass!” 

Dazai actually turns this time. “Slander is punishable by law, you know,” he says mockingly. It's not exactly true since, in actuality, if a statement is an opinion rather than factual assertion, it can’t really qualify as defamation but that’s a can of worms he doesn’t have to open until his next class monday morning. 

Chuuya is, laughably, even shorter when they’re face to face. The top of his head just barely grazing his chin if he were to take a step closer. “You were ignoring me, you bastard.” 

“Is there something you need?” Dazai really wants to go home, be self destructive in peace and then go out to drink himself into a coma. This brat is in the way of that. 

Chuuya rolls his eyes, Dazai notes the dark lashes stained with mascara, the copious amounts of piercings in his ears and the very revealing clothes. Definitely out of Ace’s league, he thinks to himself. More up his alley. 

“Look,” Chuuya says. “I don’t wanna be talking to you any more than you do but Ace borrowed my tablet two days ago and he just now said he left it at your place. So before you burn his shit, can I take my stuff first?” 

Dazai is nothing if not infuriatingly observant and what he observes in that moment is Chuuya’s slightly flushed cheeks and the way his mascara is a bit smudged. If he hadn't seen the guy hold his own back there Dazai would have assumed Chuuya had teared up while breaking up with Ace but the clumsily covered hickeys around his neck tell Dazai that in actuality they only recently got done with a quickie, minutes even, before Dazai caught them almost sucking face in public. It pisses him off even more that this was happening right under his nose and he didn’t even notice. That’s what he gets for putting himself out there. Oda is getting an earful about his ‘peace and love’ advice later this week, that’s for damn sure. 

Dazai is about to reject him out of pettiness, but then Chuuya shyly looks to the side and mutters under his breath, “Look, I bought that tablet not that long ago and it cost me almost my entire paycheck. So, can I please just go pick it up?” 

A headache forms in his temples. His lips press into a line as he thinks. 

‘Practice empathy, Dazai,’ Oda echoes in his head.

Empathy. It’s a skill many people understand since birth, but since Dazai is a broken husk of a person he just had to be born defective. And so now, once a week, he has to talk about his feelings with a shrink just so he can better fit in regular society. 

‘It’s not just because of that,’ Imaginary-Oda says. ‘It’s also to improve your way of life.’

Fine, he can be nice this once. Just once. 

(And if maybe Chuuya is cute enough that he’s willing to be a bit more nice than he usually would be, that’s neither here nor there.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The walk to his place is silent, Dazai loses himself in his head, thinking of the box cutter in his bedside table and Mori’s alcohol cabinet with the laughably brittle lock. To his right and from the corner of his eye he sees that Chuuya is texting someone furiously, his fingers tapping aggressively on the split screen. His wrist has an obscene amount of bracelets, some made of leather and others colorful and worn enough to be old friendship bracelets. He spots a few paper bands that belong to clubs around town, these he finds are not that old. 

“What are you looking at?” Chuuya snaps, pocketing his phone. 

“Nothing much,” he says and lets the insult go over Chuuya’s head. 

They weren’t that far from his neighborhood to begin with so it only takes a few more minutes until they stop in front of the lobby of his building. The doorman eases the doors open for them and they pass through without incident. They know Dazai, and anyone he brings along is obviously implied to be welcome. He’ll let them know that this is a one time visit later on. 

Up ahead the long corridor splits into two. The right hallway leads to the elevators that can only reach up to the first thirty floors, the left one to the rest. They take a left and wait for one of the elevators to arrive. Chuuya fidgets with his clothes, trying in vain to not appear so shocked. 

Dazai ignores it and stares ahead, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Inside the elevator he presses the number fifty-five and leans back. Chuuya is staring at the touch screen like he has never seen one before. 

“Problem?” he asks in a bored tone. 

“Just didn’t know elevators came with tablets, that’s all. Since when did buttons become obsolete anyway?” 

“Ever since someone decided that screens are more elegant,” he says, smoothly not mentioning that he hates screens and would prefer the old panels with the gold buttons.

They don’t run into anyone else on their way back to his apartment, and the doors slide open to a barren hallway he's painfully familiar with. Dazai takes the lead to his door, punching in the code and walking inside. They each take off their shoes and Dazai sneaks a glance at Chuuya’s. They're worn sneakers with penned doodles on the sides. Though noticeably worn, curiously, they don’t strike him as a choice made out of necessity, but rather a choice made out of personal style. 

The entryway opens up to the open plan living room. The kitchen is off to the side, its own room for when someone decides to kill the microwave with seafood and stink up the entire apartment. 

The far wall has the L shaped stairs with the insufficient support that he personally thinks is a safety hazard but try telling Mori that when he sees something he likes. Underneath the stairs is what Dazai also thinks is a useless fake garden. (The shishi-odoshi is a nice touch, he begrudgingly admits.) The floor to ceiling windows are being cleaned by the maids and they dutifully ignore him and his guest. 

They climb the stairs, Chuuya being careful to not touch anything too long and Dazai, with no such qualms, gripping the railway because he’s always so nervous he’ll slip and fall and break his neck. 

Up on the second floor that overlooks the living room he walks past Mori’s master bedroom, then the office space and then his brother’s room. Right at the end is his door that is always locked because he hates it when people snoop around. The maids are obviously paid by Mori so anything they find that their boss would like to see, they're duty-bound to inform. Dazai does not begrudge them this, seeing as it is true that they don’t owe him anything.

The lock comes undone with his key and they walk inside. His room is dark, and his bed is unmade. He should air out the place sometime today, it kind of smells like a storage room that hasn’t seen the light of day in decades. He walks over rumpled clothes littered on the floor and kicks a few books and bottles to the side, searching for the tablet that Ace took from Chuuya and left here. 

God, what an ass. 

“Can I help?” Chuuya asks. 

Dazai looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “By all means.” 

Chuuya takes to the desk, carefully moving mountains of papers to the side and searching under the still damp towel he discarded that morning. Dazai’s eyes start to hurt from squinting in the dark so he throws the curtains open and the window as well. The chilly air from so high up stings his hands but it allows in some fresh air which is sorely needed. 

“Found it!” Chuuya announces, in his hands is a small tablet with a fake leather case. Dazai straightens up and approaches Chuuya to look. “Anything else you need before I take Ace's shit to the trash compactor?” 

Chuuya half-smiles, maybe thinking he’s joking. Dazai doesn’t bother to correct him. “I don’t think so, unless he borrowed something else without telling me.” 

“I’ll try not to get rid of anything that looks like it could belong to you, if I see it.” 

“Thanks…” Chuuya fiddles with his tablet, turning it on and off. “Um…” 

Dazai waits him out, putting his hands in his pant’s pocket this time to warm his fingers. 

“I’m really sorry this happened to you—to us, really.” He stops. “Ace is a massive dick. He didn’t deserve either one of us.” 

The sentiment is nice. God knows Mori won’t be doling out any fatherly affection once he finds out. He’ll probably only say, ‘Shame. He was a good guy for you.’ Acting as if he knows a thing about Ace or Dazai for that matter. While fidgeting with his tablet Chuuya accidentally swipes the screen and unlocks it, showing them in color and painful detail what looks like a full on, and honest to god, dick pic. 

Chuuya yelps and drops his tablet. Thankfully for the screen it falls on top of a shirt Dazai didn’t bother to fold and tuck away. Dazai doesn't really care about that right now, because his eyes are burning and the image is scorched into his retinas. 

He feels he needs to ask, even if he doesn’t want the answer. “Was that his fucking-”

“Yes,” Chuuya says miserably, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Yes it fucking was. With my tablet. He took a dick pic with my tablet while inside your room.”

“I'll wager a guess and say he also sent you nudes at inopportune times?” 

Chuuya looks up with haunted eyes. “I was sharing my screen in front of my entire class for a presentation once and he sent a full-frontal. Thankfully the notification doesn't show images, although the message underneath was there for my entire class to see.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask-”

“It said, ‘does baby like that.’” 

Full-body shivers. “Oh jesus-” He gags. 

“I told him so many times I hate it when he calls me nicknames.” 

“He tried calling me sweet cheeks once.” Dazai grimaces. “I don’t think I need to point out which cheeks he was talking about?” 

“Oh god, I can’t believe I let him have sex with me!” Chuuya groans and falls to the ground. His flushed face now hidden behind his hands. 

If any maids were nearby they probably heard that but Dazai is too occupied with Chuuya’s outburst to care. Societal norms and so-called basic decency dictate he should comfort Chuuya, the same way he was comforted seconds before. But he doesn’t even know where to begin and he feels like any pleasantries will sound disingenuous coming from his mouth. 

In the end he goes for the next best thing. 

“I want to take revenge on him.” 

Chuuya takes a peek from in between his hands. “What do you mean?” 

“He used to ‘joke’,” Dazai says with air quotes, “about inviting someone into a threesome. In retrospect I think he was thinking of having sex with both of us, which doesn't even make sense logistically. Eventually one of us would catch on, but I digress…” He stops. “As revenge, if you're up for it, we could send him a picture of us…” He makes a crude hand gesture. 

“Doing it?!”

“Not really doing it,” he amends. “Just making it look like we’re doing it.” 

He thinks Chuuya is about to reject him and storm off, any well-adjusted person would react that way, he thinks. But Chuuya, Dazai is starting to understand, isn’t well-adjusted, which is just his style. 

“I’m in,” he says and stands, he almost clips Dazai in the chin. His eyes are wide and excited, that little spark of mischief that lights up hot interest in his gut. 

“Great,” he grins. 

“How are we doing this anyway?” Chuuya asks. “Like, what kind of picture should it be?” 

Dazai nods along, thinking deeply. “Aside from a very ill-advised threesome, what else was he interested in?”

“He always wanted to try mirror sex but his mirrors were all so dirty I couldn’t even see my reflection.”

“Tell me about it.” He grins. “Okay, we can do that. My bathroom has a good mirror.”

The en suite bathroom is hidden behind an abused hook he should use to hang his towels but in actuality uses to hang random shit he can’t afford to lose in the hellscape that is his room. Dazai brushes off the layers of random bags and coats to ease the door open and flick on the light. Inside is a spacious bathroom that has seen its fair share of carnage. Thankfully Dazai had recently done his spring cleaning and got rid of any evidence that would incriminate his disturbing habits. Plus, the maids got in here a few days ago and deep-cleaned all the grime. For once, this actually looks like a functional bathroom and not a torture chamber. 

Small mercies, he doesn't think he could explain to Chuuya why he has such a well stocked first aid and so many different broken razors. 

“Uh, okay. Hop on the counter,” he says, and Chuuya jumps up in between the two—he doesn’t know why he needs an additional one—sinks, swinging his legs casually. Dazai gives him a brief once-over. “Good, great. Now…” He needs to set the scene here, like they’re actually screwing. “Take off your pants.”

“Buy me dinner first, why don’t you,” Chuuya says sarcastically but obliges anyway. 

“You don’t have to take them off all the way, just enough so that it doesn't show in the shot.” Chuuya slides his pants off until they hang by his ankles. Through his camera's lens it’s as if Chuuya is in just his underwear and nothing else. “Oh wait! I have a great idea!” He runs off into the room, leaving Chuuya half naked in his bathroom. 

“What is it?” his disembodied voice asks. 

Dazai comes back quickly with a hoodie in hand. He throws it at Chuuya’s face but it's unfortunately skillfully caught. Chuuya turns it around in his hands, reading the words ‘Dazai Osamu’ in bold lettering as well as the logo of his high school. 

Chuuya looks him up and down. Skeptically he asks, “You did sports?”

“Fencing,” he answers, distracted from helping Chuuya into his hoodie. Reflected on the mirror he sees his name loud and clear. “Red looks good on you,” he says absentmindedly. He looks down at his phone again, going back to the camera app and calibrating the perfect angle. From the camera’s point of view Chuuya’s back is covered entirely by the hoodie, the collar hanging low on his shoulders and also catching the naked expanse of his legs bracketing Dazai’s hips. He could, in theory, masturbate to this. 

It's perfect. 

“Of course you’d do a rich person sport,” Chuuya mumbles. 

Dazai looks down at the crown of his head, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue, but stops. Chuuya has his hands bunched up in the front pocket and his hair has come loose from the hair tie. A few strands fall gracefully by his jaw, obscuring his eyes. Dazai forgets for a moment that he should totally answer. Like, any minute now. Chuuya doesn’t seem to mind the silence, his eyes take in his bathroom, the details that to Dazai seem inconsequential but to an outsider’s perspective are damning. He wants to know what it is that Chuuya sees. 

Dazai clears his throat, suddenly in dire need of water. “I’m gonna take a picture to show you how it will look.” He steps a bit closer than necessary into Chuuya’s space, his hips knocking into the inside of Chuuya’s thighs. He snaps the picture quickly and turns it out to show Chuuya. 

His eyes widen. “Jesus, man. Were you a porn director in another life?”

“Chuuya inspires my creative side, that’s all.”

“I wanna add something,” he says, then rolls up the edges of his boxers so that not even a sliver shows beyond the hem of his hoodie. Dazai gulps on nothing while Chuuya teases the hair tie off and throws his hair off to one side. 

“Hot.”

“Thank you.”

“I was talking about me, but you look good too I guess.”

Chuuya glares at him, slapping him hard in the arm. “Ow! Mean!” The admittedly tame jab has somehow managed to bring a slight flush to the back of Chuuya’s neck. From anger or agitation, he doesn't really know but the fact is undeniable. 

It looks good. 

“Woah,” he says softly. 

Chuuya quirks an eyebrow, and tries to look back. “What is it?”

He fumbles with his phone, almost dropping it, but gets to snap a picture of Chuuya’s neck. He has to lean in a bit closer to the mirror to get the shot but once he shows Chuuya his blue eyes also appraise it eagerly. “Huh.” 

“Do you usually flush this easily?”

“I’m pale as fuck, what do you think?”

“Oh.” 

A breath gets stuck in his throat. It’s a feeling he has only felt once before on a summer vacation in Hawaii. The way his breath catches is very reminiscent of that half second after jumping off a cliff and into the ocean. In that second, suspended in midair, he’d gasped a breath that expanded his lungs. He knew it'd be the last breath of fresh air he'd get before a giant plunge into the unknown. What he’s thinking of doing now may as well be as daunting and mysterious as that ocean, seeing how he’s reacting so strongly. “So then… your skin bruises easily?” 

“Uh-huh?”

Dazai licks his lips instinctively, Chuuya’s eyes fall then come back to his eyes. “My thought is, if Ace sees that his hickeys are still there,” he points at Chuuya’s collarbone. “Then it’s like he gets this small victory, right? In a way, his presence is still here. Chuuya could theoretically feel it, were he to, say, press on it.” 

And that just won’t do. 

Chuuya looks off to the side, exposing his delicious neck, the unblemished side, to Dazai’s eyes. “We wouldn’t want that…” 

“No, we wouldn’t,” he agrees. His breathing is a bit more shallow now, when did that happen? “So… would it be okay, then, if I…” he trails off, looking pointedly at Chuuya’s neck. 

“I don’t see how we have any other choice,” Chuuya mutters. 

Dazai doesn’t respond this time, conscious of the dryness in his throat and very against the prospect of his voice breaking in front of Chuuya. He leans in slowly, savoring the way Chuuya gulps audibly. He’s close enough to see the fine baby hairs by his nape, and the exhale from his nose sends a shiver down Chuuya’s spine. 

“You sure?”

“Get on with it, I said yes.” 

The last centimeter of space is eliminated eagerly, Dazai places an open mouth kiss on the side of Chuuya’s neck, savoring the chill that has yet to thaw from being inside his apartment. Maybe Chuuya is the type to get cold easily, or maybe he runs hotter and that’s why his clothing for winter is so loose and revealing. Not that he’s complaining, not when Chuuya knows what style works for him and shows it off like he should. 

Dazai’s lips close around the pulse point, gently nipping it with his teeth. Chuuya tries to keep his reactions low-key, but with Dazai literally right on top of him, caging him in, it’s difficult to let anything pass. He presses a bit harder on the skin, his teeth leaving gentle indents. Chuuya’s hands, Dazai notices through the mirror, are gripping the edge of the counter, his shoulders hitching up to try and meet his ears. Dazai’s face gets in the way so he crowds in even more. When he’s sure it will come as a massive surprise Dazai decides to suck, feeling the pressure in the roof of his mouth. Chuuya jumps, shoulder knocking against Dazai’s cheek. He tries to put some distance but Dazai grips his waist tight, bunching up the hoodie in a fist. It proves to not be enough so his other hand takes hold of the other side of Chuuya’s face to keep him still. 

Chuuya hasn’t tapped out, he hasn’t yelled or said stop. If anything his legs get tighter around his hips and it’s enough for Dazai to pick up the signs and keep going.

His mouth moves up a bit, clamping down on the next bit of Chuuya’s neck. This time he doesn’t kill time by kissing or slobbering, he goes for the kill immediately. His mouth makes this wet sound that goes straight to his groin and that makes Chuuya gasp quietly. The bathroom is big enough to produce an echo and Dazai cherishes the aftereffects of Chuuya’s needy little sounds. 

Chuuya’s left hand goes up shakily, then takes a hold of Dazai’s shirt, grabbing it and pulling him closer. Dazai complies and he also drags Chuuya closer. They’re chest to chest like this, with Chuuya’s arm stuck in between them, hanging on for dear life as Dazai continues to suck more hickeys that are quick to color. He counts five before he decides it’s enough for now and leans back. The moment there’s enough space to see what he has done, Dazai’s heart gets stuck in his throat. 

Chuuya’s neck, previously clean of any bruising, is now obscene. The hickeys are just a few seconds old and yet they’re dark and beautiful. Dazai realizes he has his mouth open and closes it with a click. Chuuya isn’t faring any better, he breathes in deeply, attempting to catch his breath. 

From the mirror’s reflection Dazai sees how disheveled he looks now. Chuuya’s hand has loosened his shirt collar and his lips are shiny with spit. He’s painfully hard now, hard enough that he cannot hide from Chuuya’s alluring eyes. 

On the flip-side, even though Chuuya can hide anything happening below the belt under the over-sized hoodie, those dilated pupils speak volumes about what he’s really thinking. Chuuya’s eyes are taking their fill slowly, going down from Dazai’s shoulders to his pants and the hard-on he can’t really conceal. 

Their eyes meet for once, and whatever doubts he had before this moment disintegrate. Chuuya is reaching for him the same second Dazai is stepping in close. Their hands are all over the other, clutching and pulling. 

“Any boundaries?” Chuuya asks breathlessly, hands tackling his belt with ease. 

“No degradation for me. And, also, it’s a major turn off when people say, ‘yeah, you like that.’”

“If you know what you’re doing, you don’t have to ask,” Chuuya says confidently with the most sexy smirk imaginable. 

“Great,” he sighs and dives in for the real prize. He kisses into Chuuya’s mouth fervently, licking inside and bullying him into giving ground. His hands slide underneath what the hoodie is hiding, fingers clenching around those fucking thighs he’d love to have wrapped around his fucking head. He wonders as Chuuya gasps into the kiss, if they’d bruise just as easily as his neck. 

He can find out later. 

Chuuya has his arms around his neck, messing up his hair and pulling so that they’re at constant odds with who is in charge. Dazai likes the challenge, makes for a very fun wrestling match. His right hand eventually presses against Chuuya’s crotch which is hard under his palm. Chuuya’s breath hitches beautifully, his back arching and pressing their chest together. He adds a bit more force into his hand, putting up something solid for Chuuya to rut against. 

The back of his shirt is being stretched to high heaven right now, but he doesn’t care. Chuuya is making the most addictive sounds that he’d love to have as his ringtone. His free hand goes back to Chuuya’s back, slowly easing the hoodie up and up. 

He pauses and Dazai swears the air gets a whole lot heavier. 

God have fucking mercy. 

“Is that a back tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya smiles. “Like it?

“Oh, how the hell are you real?” 

They go back in. Instead of putting his hand between them, Dazai slides Chuuya closer to the edge so he can take what he wants and grind against him instead. The friction is delicious, shooting fireworks up his spine. 

Dazai has never been the type to be vocal during sex or anything related, the entire thing is too performative and takes away his focus anyway. When he’s in the middle of getting into it, all his attention goes into keeping that steady high, all because his antidepressants just love to fuck him over. Now, though, he’s too lost in the feeling to care, visually stimulated by the back muscles that shift and the intricate tattoo that ripples alongside it. 

The dichotomy is so fascinating. Here is someone who presents as the most badass person in any room, with piercings and back tattoos and a rough, deep voice that could tell him to die and he’d thank it. And yet, here is also someone that whimpers into his mouth and desperately rubs himself against Dazai to get any relief. It’s pathetic in that sexy way Dazai loves. The degree of desperation born of mindless chasing. He loves it, wants more of it. Will do anything Chuuya wants to just hear those sinful sounds again and again. 

“Dazai,” Chuuya whines into his cheek. “I nee- need… I-”

“I got you,” he says, helping Chuuya ease off his boxers down to the knees, stretching the fabric without a care. His left hand teases the head slowly, while his right digs around a nearby drawer for a bottle of lube. His fingers find it and bring it up for him to see. 

‘Chocolate flavor’?

Oh jesus, is this Ace’s?!

Ugh, whatever. It will have to do because anything more sensible is in the bedroom and that’s just too fucking far from Chuuya right now. He squirts the lube on his hand until it borders on an exaggeration, but the faster this hellish fucking lube is gone, the better. Chuuya gasps from the cold and Dazai kisses his jaw as an apology. His left hand slides smoothly along the shaft, the glide is slippery and cold and god. 

Chuuya has hidden his face in Dazai’s shoulder, shaking minutely anytime Dazai grazes him with feather light touches. 

“Ta- take a picture,” he grits out. 

“What, now?” he laughs slightly. 

Chuuya looks up momentarily, his face red and eyes slightly glazed. “For authenticity,” he grins. 

“Yeah, okay. Good, great.” He’s rambling. 

Dazai’s right hand has been slightly spared the mess of lube but just in case he wipes on his own shirt anyway. The picture comes out slightly blurry but the main focus is evident and perfect. Dazai’s hand, the one not holding his phone, is clutching Chuuya’s back, riding up the hoodie and revealing what is quickly becoming the best piece of art he has ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. The hoodie, still on though a bit askew from desperate hands, has his name showing very clearly across the back. Dazai’s mouth is latched onto Chuuya’s naked shoulder. Through the screen he looks straight at the camera making direct eye contact. In the picture Chuuya also has his head angled just right so that the corner of his eye makes contact with the camera, showing off the tail-end of a very smug smirk. 

“Oh wow. That's good. Very good.” The comment, made without thought, garners an aggressive reaction. Chuuya’s eyes screw shut and beyond pursed lips he lets out a very whiny sigh. “Oh?” he asks. “Praise, huh? I can work with that.”

Chuuya bashfully hides his face under Dazai’s jaw, fogging up his skin with heavy breaths. Dazai curls his hand around the shaft, working his hand faster, an even rhythm that’s slowly breaking Chuuya down into a malleable mess. “Should we send this picture to Ace? Show ‘im what he’s missing?” 

Chuuya nods quickly, Dazai uses his only clean hand to pull up Ace’s contact information and chat. His fingers hover over the screen, shaking without his permission because Chuuya has decided that this is the finest time to stuff his own hands inside his pants and give him the relief he has been waiting for. He hits send before losing his nerve and muffles a groan against the top of Chuuya’s head. He’s resting most of his weight against him and Chuuya takes it easily, too focused on his task of driving Dazai up the wall to make any comment. 

Finally, god finally, Dazai’s dick is left out in the open eliciting a hiss from between his teeth. The stimulation of another person’s hand right there is amazing. Chuuya lines them up so that Dazai can jerk them off at the same time, there’s enough lube for them and more. He doesn’t say anything about getting off this way. Frankly, Chuuya could ask him to get on his knees and bark and he’d do it.  

They get lost in each other, Chuuya’s breathing hitching beautifully and Dazai holding back as much as he can so he doesn’t lose his mind too soon. It takes them a bit too long to register the default ringing of Dazai’s phone, blaring from his back pocket. Chuuya is gulping on air like he’s been starved for hours and Dazai wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. 

“That’s your phone right?”

Dazai nods, slowing down his left hand exponentially. Chuuya leans back using his hands, allowing space between their chests so that Dazai can see who the hell is interrupting at the worst time. 

“Oh jesus,” he laughs, then shows Chuuya the screen. 

“What the hell? He’s calling?!”

Ace, it says on his screen. 

“Yeah, do I…?”

Chuuya takes the breather to think on it, but his eyes already have that distinct glimmer that spells trouble. “Answer it,” he says with a wicked smile. 

Dazai groans up at the ceiling. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

The ringing comes to an abrupt stop after he slides to answer. Instead of stopping what they’re doing, Dazai drops his phone, which is on speaker, inside the right sink. He dives into Chuuya’s space again, this time with the sole purpose of making him cry. 

“Hello, Dazai?” Ace says impatiently. 

Dazai doesn’t answer, his left hand is busy in between them, working up Chuuya into a frenzy once more. He has left his own aching dick unattended, deciding to take the edge off by grinding against the inside of Chuuya’s thigh for the moment. His right hand explores Chuuya’s stomach, lightly tracing lines up his torso and playing around with his chest. His cold hands come into contact with a nipple, nails tracing circles and flicking it. 

Chuuya lets out these amazing sounds. Shaky little gasps that are picked up by his phone’s microphone. 

“Oh jesus, are you two fucking right now?” 

Dazai hides his smarmy smile against Chuuya’s sweaty skin, biting down fiercely just to make Chuuya let out another high-pitched whimper. 

“You are fucking disgusting you know that?!” Ace yells into the receiver. Dazai’s hand works faster, pressing down on the head and then sliding smoothly up and down. Chuuya’s hands are completely tangled in his hair, yanking violently and sending a thousand sparks up into his cloudy head. 

“Disgusting he says,” Dazai whispers into Chuuya’s ear, and Chuuya tries leaning away from him, shivering with his entire body. Louder he says, “The only disgusting one here is the man that buys chocolate flavored lube, which was half empty by the way. We never used this shit, so how the hell was it almost empty?”

Chuuya laughs breathlessly. “Maybe he jerked off in your bathroom.” 

Dazai chuckles as well. “That’s a new low for him.” 

“Give me a fucking break. Now, care to explain why you're fucking? You literally just met twenty minutes ago!”

Dazai ignores that comment, whispering down into Chuuya’s ear, “Hey, shorty. How’re you holding up? You gonna cum?”

Chuuya nods repeatedly. 

“Wanna make him listen to all he's missing out on?”

Chuuya keens and it's enough of an answer. 

“Good. Now, let’s give him a show, huh?”

Dazai’s attention is entirely on Chuuya, solely present in the objective of pressing all his buttons and mashing them until he breaks. He takes both of them in one hand, jerking them off and he really wants to fucking cry in relief. 

They've been pent up for too long now, and the added adrenaline of a third party listening has taken this up a notch. It's the only reason why Chuuya is clawing at his back so suddenly and why he's slowly losing his own mind. 

It takes them less than he thought to reach a breaking point. And God, the second they do it's a fucking high like he hasn't experienced in a while. 

It’s not often he gets to enjoy a nice, lengthy orgasm. Maybe today the planets have aligned or maybe it’s the petty side of his personality, regardless he makes a mess of Chuuya’s abdomen seconds after the shorty does. 

Little aftershocks make him a shaky mess a second after reaching his own high. Because he hates overstimulation he gives his own dick a break after cumming. Chuuya, though, doesn’t get that courtesy. Dazai has a mild suspicion he likes the rougher side of sex. It turns out to be glaringly obvious when he keeps working him up and Chuuya’s eyes get a glistening sheen over them. Refraining from pushing him away, he instead pulls him closer, biting down on his clothed shoulder to prevent loud cries that will reach the hallway and the maid's ears. 

Dazai only stops when Chuuya presses hands against his chest, comically shaky and uncoordinated. They both shoot his discarded phone a cursory glance. The call is still going. 

Dazai smirks down at Chuuya and they hold eye contact. “Hey, Ace. I think I should let you know that I lied… Your dick is too small for your body.” He laughs, “Anything to add, Chuuya?”

He grins. “Your blow jobs were lousy and I had to fantasize about other people to cum.”

Dazai hangs up before Ace can form a response. Chuuya’s laughter bounces off the walls of his bathroom, a bright and happy sound Dazai could get drunk on. He joins in quietly, trying to gather a bit of strength into his limbs. 

In the meantime he takes his sweet time looking Chuuya up and down, memorizing the details just in case he needs good material later on when he’s by himself and bored enough to take out the lube. 

Chuuya is the image of a wet dream. 

Him, with the rough fashion choice that contradicts the loopy little smile that can only really mean he’s satisfied. With the neck that's a jumble of red bites and dark hickeys. With the hoodie he threw on that is now wet with sweat and cum. 

Chuuya’s pants are still rolled at the ankles, and his socks are now on the floor revealing—huh, what do you know—toes painted with black nail polish. That’s kind of cute. 

With his breath back Dazai starts cleaning them up. The fresh off the washer hand towel is soaked under warm water, squeezed and then gently passed over Chuuya’s stomach. He hisses a bit when Dazai gets too close to his dick.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, then with more care rinses the mess away. His own hand is cleaned with soap and dried with another spare hand towel. He passes Chuuya the same one so he can dry himself as he sees fit. After that Dazai pulls up Chuuya’s pants and Chuuya raises himself on his hands so that it can be placed low on his hips again. Chuuya takes off the hoodie himself, letting it drop on the floor. 

Okay, now what. 

Dazai clears his throat, avoiding eye contact for whatever reason. He glances at his bedroom and gestures quietly. Chuuya hops off the counter on slightly wobbly legs and follows him out, grabbing his socks on the way. Back in his room Chuuya crouches to take his tablet and then it’s just a matter of saying ‘goodbye, see you never.’

His eyes try to settle on anything that isn’t Chuuya, which is why he suddenly realizes that it has darkened considerably outside. His phone even says it’s drizzling slightly, the temperature dropped too low for what Chuuya is wearing. 

“Hey, uh, it’s cold outside, why don’t I lend you a jacket, yeah?”

Chuuya shrugs, so Dazai looks around for something suitable. What he finds first is a raincoat that reaches down to his thighs but that might cover Chuuya down to his calves. He chooses this one for simplicity’s sake and because it’s waterproof. Chuuya drapes it over his arm and then they leave his room in silence. None of the maids are around, meaning they’ve finished their work and probably went to look for him in case he needed anything. Jury’s out on whether they heard them fooling around or not. In any case they didn't bother him for which he is very grateful. 

Whatever. 

By the front door Dazai leans on the wall while Chuuya pulls on his socks and shoes, then shrugs on his new coat. As predicted it reaches past his thighs, dropping well below the knees. Dazai can’t explain why that excites him so much, so he decides to ignore it. 

“Thank you,” Chuuya says quietly, voice slightly hoarse. “For letting me get my… tablet.” 

“No problem.” He kind of wants to ask for his number, but maybe that’s in bad form. Asking to see your ex’s side piece? Isn’t it? For these moral dilemmas he usually asks Oda but he can’t very well do that with Chuuya right there. 

Chuuya makes the decision for both of them. “I tutor at the nearby library from time to time. The one two blocks east,” he says hesitatingly. “In case you wanna find me, like, if you find something else of mine, or to get your coat back.” 

Dazai is nodding before he finishes. “Sounds great.” He cringes a bit, but powers through by acting like this is all according to plan. With another cough he leans in to open the door for his guest, innocently—read, deliberately—getting in Chuuya’s space one last time. Chuuya’s breath catches which brings him immense amounts of pleasure. He keeps his hand on the door, watching Chuuya as he slowly walks into the elevator. Just before the doors close Chuuya waves goodbye and Dazai can only think:

I’m fucked.

Chapter Text

Dazai never goes to the library, seeing as there is no reason to. All the books he needs he already bought online for convenience. There is no need for tutors, and no friends he would want to study with anyway. The damn place is even out of the way from his usual commute. Frankly speaking Dazai isn’t even sure he ever set foot inside this public library, and it’s a nice place, fine, but the books and the admittedly cute librarian up front are not why he’s here today. 

The reason he’s here in the middle of the afternoon when he could be napping, is sitting by the far wall, hunched over a spiral notebook with a small tablet on the side. A ratty black backpack spilling its contents everywhere. He doesn’t seem to be tutoring anyone, thank god, but he’s clearly busy studying. Dazai debates whether to leave silently and come back another day, (in reality he’s looking for any excuse to run from something that makes him feel so much) but Chuuya’s eyes catch him in the act, putting a stop to the cowardly retreat. 

‘Dazai?’ he mouths. Then gestures for him to join his table. 

Dazai goes over, letting his bag hit the ground and leaning in to hear Chuuya’s whispered voice. 

“I didn’t bring your jacket with me today, sorry. I’ve literally been lugging it around for the past week and the one time I decide to leave it behind you appear.” 

Dazai grins. “Oops?” 

Chuuya clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. Dazai knows he’s not irritated, not really, by the way his lips tug into a smile. “Since I forgot your coat and I don’t think you have anything of mine to return, do you wanna study with me? You’re already here so might as well, right?”

Dazai doesn’t need to study, he already revised for his lecture. If anything, he’s way ahead of the entire class, not out of any real interest in his studies but because he likes being the best at everything. Nevertheless Dazai nods and takes out his laptop and a few reading materials he printed yesterday. He’s always been the type to prefer tangible things as opposed to digital copies. It’s why his room is filled with paperbacks and why he hates his elevator’s new screen. It’s also why they don’t have a smart fridge, something Mori was displeased at but didn’t care enough to fight on it. 

Chuuya goes back to studying whatever it is he needs to study, something with a lot of numbers and complicated looking formulas, and Dazai goes through the reading they were assigned for today’s class for a second time. He remembers everything, there is no need to read it again. And yet here he is, highlighting stuff he knows will come up during class and taking notes of shit he remembers without an aid. 

It’s not a total waste of time, only because this is going to make it easier to keep up with the professor, but it’s also not necessary. Time passes quickly, funnily enough, and too soon Chuuya is packing up. 

Dazai looks up pointedly searching for Chuuya’s eyes. The shorty has his backpack slung over his shoulder before giving out an explanation. “I have class,” he says quietly. “I’ll bring your jacket tomorrow, okay?” 

He leaves before Dazai can respond. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As it turns out a few students notice his notes and beg him to let them take a picture. He lets them do as they like, too apathetic to say no anyway. Even the T.A. approaches him, asking for a copy too because he couldn’t be bothered to take notes and the professor is going to ream him if he finds out. 

“Isn’t it a T.A.’s job to take notes?”

“Partially,” he says. “But it’s really hard to take notes when everything is so obvious anyway. I never know what I should write down.” 

Dazai allows him to take pictures of his notes. “Uh-huh…”

The guy gives it back. “Anyway, what’s your name again?”

A T.A. is also supposed to know this but Dazai doesn’t point that out. “Dazai.” A pause. “You?”

“Ranpo,” he smiles. “I think I like you Dazai. Anyway, later!” 

Weird guy. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s a gloomy Thursday the next day. Dazai goes to the library anyway, under the guise that he wants his jacket but fully cognizant of the fact that he just really wants to see Chuuya again. 

Unfortunately, this time he is tutoring someone. The curveball is that this someone is his younger half-brother. 

Dazai drops his bag on the table in between them and Ryuu flinches upon meeting his eyes. Then scowls. 

“Ryuu, I didn’t know you were being tutored?”

His brother looks away, focusing back on his laptop and the materials littered around him. “Would you care?” 

Dazai narrows his eyes some. Him and his brother don’t get along, mostly his fault, honestly. Oda is trying to bridge that gap, slowly through small gestures. It’s slow going, but seeing as Ryuu isn’t running for the hills, it’s indicative of how far they’ve come from their first meeting. (That one started and ended with tears.)

Regardless, Dazai is often annoyed by his brother, by the things he says or does. Or in this case, the things he didn’t fucking say. 

“Uh, how do you know each other?” Chuuya asks, pointing his pencil between the two. 

“He’s my brother,” Dazai says while Ryuu says, “We’re half-brothers.” 

Chuuya doesn’t react to their different responses. He shrugs. “Well, Dazai. I’m busy now so either wait until I’m done or go away.” 

Dazai hasn’t come this far to be sent home. Plus, his classes start in two hours so it’d be a waste to go back home and come back out again. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have the fortitude to go to class if he sets foot inside his room. To emphasize his displeasure Dazai takes a seat while expelling the deepest sigh known to man, bringing out his own laptop and notebook and promptly getting to work. 

This time it’s a little more painful, the passage of time. Dazai tries diving into his mundane work, more than once catching himself adding notes that his classmates will find useful, privately pleased to receive praise. (Oda will have a field day with this revelation.) Now that he knows that his notes will be in high demand, he is sort of more conscious of what to write. The T.A. is a lost cause anyway, the guy doesn't even bother to write his own damn notes. 

Chuuya and his brother talk quietly, the former explaining ideas and theories in simple terms and the latter making noncommittal sounds of acknowledgement.  In the end it takes them fifty minutes until they’re finally done. His brother picks up his things, bids goodbye to Chuuya and finally leaves, not sparing Dazai another glance. Just as well, since Dazai would have ignored it. 

Chuuya is dumping his shit in his backpack. “I’m gonna be direct here. Why are you two so cold with each other?” 

Bold question, Dazai thinks, which deserves a bold answer. “We don’t like each other.” 

“Why?”

Many reasons, all of them too lengthy to say when Chuuya is gearing up to leave. “Normal reasons,” he says vaguely. “Did you bring me my coat?” 

Chuuya’s face pales. “Fuck.”

“Seriously?” he asks with mild amusement. “Weren’t you the one that told me to come back for this express reason?” 

“God, yeah I know. I forgot, okay? I’m sorry. A lot going on now, we have projects due back to back and then exams, plus work and-”

“Okay, got it,” he interrupts. Chuuya makes a face at him. “No need to glare at me, I just mean I get it. No worries.” 

He deflates then checks his phone. “I have free time now, if we hurry I can give you your coat on the way to my class.” 

Dazai is already packing up. “Lead the way.” 

Unlike last time, this impromptu walk isn’t awkward or tense. This time it’s not really a walk at all. Chuuya takes them to the train and pays for Dazai’s fare. It’s a short ride, all things considered, and they don’t speak throughout. Chuuya occupies his time drafting an email to someone and then furiously contributing to a group chat. Dazai tries not to stare over his shoulder but it’s hard because he’s so bored. He doesn’t interrupt though. Chuuya is clearly busy and would no doubt bite his head off were he to interrupt. Plus, by being distracted he is unknowingly giving Dazai a free pass to look all he wants. 

Soon enough they’re out in the street again. They’re five minutes into their walk when he gives into his boredom and asks, “You never said, but what’s your major?”

“Astrophysics. Undergrad.” 

He whistles. “STEM, huh?” 

“How about you?”

“Law,” he answers, barely hiding his disdain. 

“You don’t strike me as the type,” Chuuya says lightly. “You’re more like… I dunno. Not law.” 

Dazai stuffs his hands in his pockets, dodging a rushing salaryman, and accidentally grazing Chuuya’s arm. “I get that a lot,” he says. “But believe me, it’s the only major I could fit into.” 

“Why’s that?”

“You tell me,” he jokes. 

“Because you’re an argumentative, instigating jackass?” is the deadpan reply. 

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Correcto!”

Chuuya shakes his head. “Do you like it?”

“I like being good at stuff, and I’m very good at what I do.” Chuuya doesn’t find that funny. “Can I know why you're tutoring my brother?”

Chuuya shoots him a sideways glance. “What do you mean why? Because it’s my job and he needed my help?"

“He’s not majoring in astrophysics,” he points out. 

“We have an overlapping class, and since he’s not studying physics, the class is especially hard for him. Anyway, we’re here. Wait outside, I'll get your coat.” 

They have stopped in front of a dilapidated building that has seen better days. Dazai shoots Chuuya’s retreating back a mocking salute and waits by the curb. Traffic in the afternoons is lighter than what he’s used to, and not many people take to walking the streets. It’s a work day today, and past lunchtime to boot. Dazai has nothing to occupy his mind while he waits, forcing him to take out his phone. His class starts in fifteen minutes, and his university is the opposite direction of where they’ve been heading. Maybe if he runs he’ll make it?

“Here!” Chuuya throws the coat directly in Dazai’s face, slapping him hard. 

“Gee, thanks,” he says dryly, unsticking the raincoat from his face.

“Get better reflexes, loser.” He looks down at his phone again. “I have to go now, see you.” 

And then he’s gone. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

That afternoon it’s a different class than last time but bears the same result. People notice his notes and highlighted reading and beg him to take a picture. After class is finished there’s a long line of students taking turns snapping a picture of his notebook. Dazai is uncomfortable with so much attention, yet eating it up like he’s starving. 

It’s only after the last of his classmates gets their picture that Dazai can pack up and leave. 

It’s later than usual when he walks home. Makes sense. He did spend a lot of time after class waiting around for people. It throws him off to see the rapidly darkening sky since he’s usually home by six. He thinks he likes it, this small, insignificant change of pace. The sun setting ignites the sidewalk on fire. The people around him walk with purpose, eager to get home after a long, hard day. 

Dazai finds that he has more energy than usual today, his body isn’t screaming at him to take a long twelve hour nap for once. Taking advantage of this unprecedented good mood he bypasses his apartment and goes to the library Chuuya frequents. He isn’t looking for Chuuya, by this time the guy is probably going home himself.

He doesn’t really know why he goes back to the library, only that he wants to take out a card and peruse the fiction shelves. It’s been a hot minute since he last read something new, maybe today will be the day he crawls out of his slump. This past depressive episode has stuck around longer than he’s used to. After changing antidepressants for the third time he’d started seeing changes as usual, but then came that systematic slump that quickly put an end to his serotonin. He was in the middle of one of these slumps when he met Ace, which explains why he gave that jerk the time of day to begin with. Low self esteem and self destructive tendencies are a recipe for disaster. His disaster this time came in the form of Ace. 

Could be worse though. His last, truly concerning slump ended in him getting his stomach pumped. 

The cute librarian is still at the desk, and she eats up his cheesy lines and choreographed smiles. He takes out his new library card, laminated and shiny with his name printed on the front. Dazai tucks this new addition to his wallet, right behind his student ID and the driver’s license he never had to use. With nothing else to occupy his mind Dazai takes to the far shelves. Fiction has a large selection, categorized from A to Z. 

By the time he’s deep in the M’s Dazai has found a book with a cover he finds semi-interesting. That’s the exact moment he hears it, and at first it’s nothing very fascinating. Footsteps get closer to his aisle, and hushed words follow. 

“-fine by me, Chuuya. Anyway, see you tomorrow.” 

From where he’s standing he sees a guy walk quickly past the shelves he’s hiding in, and after that comes Chuuya, at an unhurried pace. 

“Huh,” he says out-loud. 

That little sound stops Chuuya in his tracks. He swivels to look at him, in the middle of rubbing his face from apparent tiredness. “Dazai? What are you doing here?” 

He doesn't really know himself, but saying that or even hesitating will only work against him. He can’t have Chuuya thinking he’s a desperate loser, longing for his attention. (Which he is, granted, but Chuuya doesn’t have to know that.)

“I wanted to borrow a book for my study breaks,” he lies. The book he’s holding isn’t anything special, just a regular political intrigue high fantasy book. What’s more is that he’d been just about to put it back before seeing Chuuya. “What are you doing here?”

“A friend of mine asked me for help studying for his make-up exam tomorrow.” 

Dazai sighs in fake-disapproval. “Does Chuuya ever stop working?”

“Not all of us were born with a silver spoon up our ass.” 

“Chip on your shoulder?”

“I’ve earned it.” 

Dazai shrugs, flipping through the pages of the book he will now have to take home. “I don’t care either way. So, are you going home now?”

Chuuya decides that this conversation can’t continue with them on opposite sides of the M shelves. He walks closer, leaning against the right shelf. Suddenly weary, he nods. “Yeah, and during peak traffic hours too. It’ll be hell on the train.” 

“You could kill time until traffic calms down,” he suggests. 

Chuuya scoffs. “I don’t want to spend even more time in the library. It’s already like my second home.” 

Under any other circumstance he would invite Chuuya to his house, but Mori said he’d be home early today and he will not subject someone he’s interested in to Mori so soon. His step-dad is the kind of person Dazai will only introduce once it’s too late for the other person to run. It hasn’t happened yet, all of his flings have fled way before they reached the ‘serious relationship’ mark. 

With this, they’re at an impasse. 

Dazai clears his throat. “I can keep you company,” he says. “If you want.” 

Chuuya laughs at him but nods which he counts as a win. “And do what?” 

“Whatever Chuuya likes.” 

“Ah,” Chuuya looks up, nodding along. “So if I said I wanted to finish my homework…?”

Dazai quirks an eyebrow. “You don’t want that, I’m sure.”

“I could.”

“You don’t.”

“How would you know?”

False bravado, is the actual answer, but that doesn’t sound cool or good. “I just know. Also you’ve got very subtle tells.”

“What’s one?”

“You haven’t punched me and walked off.”

“Subtle tell, is it?”

“I’d say so.”

Unlike with the librarian and every other fling of his, Dazai is thoroughly invested in the outcome of this conversation. Chuuya has this quality that throws him off. He takes offence to the weirdest stuff and shrugs off others. It skews the script he uses to pick up guys or girls. It is, decidedly, making him work for it which hasn’t happened in a long time. 

Case in point, Chuuya who strikes him as the follow-the-rules-type crowds into him, slowly pressing him into the shelf at his back, and lifts himself on his toes. Hands find themselves at his hips and this way they’re slightly more eye-to-eye. 

Chuuya grins. 

Dazai melts, he gives in, he yields. He throws the script out the window because Chuuya has no qualms about adlibbing his way through life and that’s just so fucking interesting to him. He dives in and they meet halfway. Chuuya’s right hand curls around his neck really tight, and Dazai fists the back of Chuuya’s shirt to push him closer. 

They try to keep it down, but there’s only so much one can do when making out filthy-style. Chuuya knocks his knee between his legs and bullies his tongue down Dazai’s throat and there goes his self control. One of his hands sneaks behind Chuuya’s back to sneak under his shirt, where the skin is blissfully warm and firm.

They have to hit a pause on their little misadventure when Chuuya accidentally steps on him and causes Dazai to stumble back, knocking his funny bone into the wood. 

“Oo-kay, maybe we move this somewhere else?”

“What, like the bibliographies section?” Dazai asks while doubled over, rubbing his poor, wounded elbow. “I’m pretty sure paleontology is more deserted.”

Chuuya hits him over the head. “Idiot. I was thinking, like, outside of the library.”

“Huh. Good idea.”

“...are you actually smart?”

“Yes, just not right now.” 

“Fine.” 

A student that was reading on the floor not two steps from where they were making out openly stares at them with hate. Chuuya avoids his gaze, Dazai shoots him finger-guns. Outside the temperature has dropped again, Dazai is suddenly very jealous of Chuuya’s hoodie and jacket combo. 

“Right. Where does Chuuya wish to go?” he asks, jittery from the cold. 

“Unless your apartment is off limits…”

“It is. Trust me.”

A huff. “Then, how about a love hotel.”

“Classy.”

“Dazai, I had my tongue down your throat in the first twenty minutes I knew you.”

“Thirty,” he corrects. “Actually.”

“I don’t care.”

This back and forth is cool and all, Dazai will look forward to bantering with Chuuya obsessively after they part, but he is eager to go inside any building. 

“Lead the way, Chuuya. I presume you know where we can find a suitable love hotel?”

Chuuya roughly grabs him by the lapels of his coat and off they go. “Have you never been?” 

“Nope.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Excuse me, do I look like a virgin?” Dazai asks, scandalized. 

“What does a virgin look like anyway?”

“Not like me, I’ll tell you that much.” He has more than earned the title of ‘Not a virgin loser.’ (He is, for now, just a loser.)

The building they go into is so nondescript that Dazai is almost convinced they’re trespassing, that is until they’re fully inside and past the empty lobby. A service counter with the windows tinted has a singular person patiently waiting for them, only their folded hands visible to them. Chuuya goes directly, familiar with the transaction. 

“Oh, wow. This is nicer than I thought.”

“Which room would you like?” the young lady says. That’s when Dazai finds a laminated menu of all things off to the side. He swipes it and grins before Chuuya can even formulate a response to the girl. “Holy hell, there’s a literal menu?”

Face in hands, Chuuya groans. “You’re so embarrassing, can you calm down?” He looks back up, stealing the menu for himself. 

“Can Chuuya get us the sea world room?”

“We’re getting the studio suite for an hour,” Chuuya says to the girl, ignoring Dazai completely. “Thank you.” A keycard is passed through and off they go. Their room is down a long hallway, almost the last room available. Chuuya swipes the card and lets him enter first. 

Dazai whistles, circling the room. It’s not the sea world room, but this is nice in the same way a regular four star hotel is. Past a short hall and a door that leads to what appears like a fully stocked bathroom and a damn jacuzzi, is the room proper. The bed has white bedding with blue accents, a TV mounted on the wall directly in front and mirrors cover the walls on either side. Dazai fully stops in his tracks when he finds that the ceiling has a mirror. 

By the fully covered windows are two cushy chairs and a low coffee table, plus a mini fridge. On the bedside tables are laminated QR codes for if they need anything delivered to their room. Dazai is very surprised to find that cosplay is included in the items available. 

“So you’ve been here before?” he says absentmindedly, mostly paying attention to the list of costumes he could potentially order to their room. Interesting. 

“A couple of times,” Chuuya says behind him. 

“Freaky.”

“Whatever, asshat. So, how are we doing this?”

Dazai turns around now and takes a moment to think about it. His hands busy themselves by shrugging off his coat. “You know, we never did have, like, actual mirror sex.” 

Chuuya is sitting on the bed, kicking off his boots and stepping out of his jeans. “You jerked me off, that doesn’t count?”

Dazai walks up to him and stares down at Chuuya. “Well, was I inside you? No, so I don’t count it as sex.” A lie. He knows, through his perfect memory, that the definition of sex includes two people just having to touch each other’s ‘sexual organs’, unlike intercourse which takes into account the act of penetrative sex. That wouldn’t help his argument though, so he decides to leave it out. 

“You really wanna try that? I mean I’m down, but you gotta give me some frame of reference. I don’t really know what you want from me here.”

“Follow me to the bathroom!” 

“Again? There’s literally a mirror on the ceiling. Half of the walls here are fucking mirrors!” he exclaims, but follows anyway. 

“The bathroom has what I need, you dumb shorty.”

“Which is?”

“Somewhere for you to lean against.” Inside the bathroom he finds a similar setup to his own bathroom. A long granite counter, two sinks and a beautiful mirror with lights around their perimeter. “Up you go.”

Chuuya groans but complies, again. He hops on the counter, smack in the middle of the two sinks, just like last time. “Now what?” he asks grumpily. 

To buy time to think, Dazai undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, then rolls up both his sleeves. Chuuya watches him casually, though his eyes dilate when it’s his watch he fiddles with. Just for that Dazai decides to go slower. The watch makes a tiny clink upon being set to the side. 

“Turn around.”

It takes Chuuya a second to reply. “How? I’m literally about to fall into the sink.”

“Not my fault you’re scared of drains because you’ll fall inside and never come out. That’s what happens when you don’t grow.”

“You’re pissing me off."

“Just turn around-” Chuuya twists his torso, at a loss of how to go about this. “No, first cross your legs and now turn. Yeah, there.” 

“Okay, now what?” he asks, cross-legged in just his boxers and facing the mirror.

“Kneel.” Chuuya takes this instruction a bit more easily now, pushing himself up and kneeling on the counter. Like this, Chuuya's waist is at the perfect height for what he’s got planned. “Perfect.” The air has changed into something heavier. “Good. Now put your legs a bit further apart.”

Showcasing his flexibility Chuuya spreads his legs, his inner thighs coming into flat contact with the counter. “This position isn't exactly sustainable, y'know.”

“That’s what I’m here for!” Dazai winds his arm around Chuuya’s middle. “Put your weight against me, okay?” Chuuya’s naked back presses against him, warmer than he is despite the fact that Dazai is the one with clothes on. “Yeah, like that. Good.”

With Chuuya’s legs spread like this, his ankles rest against the edge of the counter and act like a natural wedge that will keep him kneeling. Chuuya’s hands flounder for something to hold on to, a way to get a bit of balance. 

“You can put your hands on the counter,” Chuuya rights himself, pressing the heel of his hands into the edge of the counter behind his legs, gripping it. “There, better?” Dazai asks into the shell of his ear.

A gulp and a nod.

Dazai takes out the complimentary packet of lube he stole from the bedside table. It’s unscented thank god. If it were anything but, he’d feel like an embarrassing jackass just like Ace. 

“Warm it up first, asshole.”

“Yes, yes.” He rips the packet in front of Chuuya, emptying its contents into his hand, then curls his fingers, spreading it around his palm to warm it up. His slippery hands prod at the waist of Chuuya’s boxers, then slip inside. He envelops Chuuya’s erection and pumps him slowly to start. Chuuya's sighs are tranquil, unbothered. Dazai hooks his chin over Chuuya’s shoulder to watch what he’s doing through the reflection, taking his time building him up, and helping him relax. Chuuya’s face lolls back, exposing his neck for Dazai to kiss. 

While he’s distracted, Dazai’s right hand is extracted from the confines of Chuuya’s boxers. At the same time his left keeps moving. Single-handedly he applies a bit more lube to his free fingers. His left hand is teasing the head and applying light pressure down the shaft. While Chuuya is still distracted Dazai sneaks his newly lubed hand inside his boxers, further down and hovering between Chuuya’s open legs. “Hey, Chuuya, what was your major again?”

“I told you, it’s astro- ah!”

Dazai muffles his laugh against Chuuya’s shoulder, keeping his touches on the lighter side of things, not yet pushing inside but fully intending to.

“You d-dick,” Chuuya sighs. 

While his left hand pumps Chuuya with flicks of his wrist, the right makes laps around his main goal. Chuuya is leaking already, legs loosening up in increments. White, flawless thighs are trembling from having to keep up the awkward position. 

“Could you stop fooling around already and- fuck! Oh my god, stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“You keep waiting for me to talk so you can do someth- ahh!”

“Don’t know what you mean,” he says with a straight face. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Dazai presses a quick peck to a suspiciously warm cheek. Chuuya’s face gets this very gentle pink color that travels down to his chest. 

(Great. Now every time Chuuya’s face gets a bit of color he’ll know it reaches past the collar of his shirt.)

To spice things up Dazai ups the tempo on his left hand, rutting his own clothed erection against Chuuya’s back. He wants his pants off, like, right now but dammit this is too good to miss out on. 

The tension builds and Chuuya curls into himself, breathing heavily, occasionally releasing airy gasps. Dazai’s hands stop and retreat, causing Chuuya to whine so much his voice breaks. 

He helps Chuuya get out of his boxers, throwing them over his shoulder to deal with later. After that, and before going back in, Dazai relieves himself of his pants, tugging down enough to pull himself out. Chuuya has capitalized on his distraction and taken a hold of himself to take the edge off. Dazai gently extracts his hands so they go back to supporting his weight, this time in front of his legs instead of behind.

Dazai’s arm is then pressed across Chuuya’s stomach and curling around the opposite forearm to keep him in place. His right hand, that had momentarily taken a break, goes back to moving downwards, circling what he wants. This time though he puts in more pressure in order to-

“Ngh…fuck you. Stop wasting time!” 

-slip fully inside. 

“Pretty sure this part is very important,” Dazai pants, rubbing himself against Chuuya’s back.

Finding that there’s hardly any resistance Dazai presses a second finger inside. The slide is suspiciously easy and isn’t that a delicious thought? Chuuya, by himself, enjoying a little alone time.

He groans into Chuuya’s shoulder. 

“You’re taking your time on purpose,” Chuuya complains. 

The arm around his middle explores upwards until Dazai finds Chuuya’s naked chest, skimming his fingertips over soft skin until gooseflesh breaks out down Chuuya’s arms. Chuuya slumps even further into himself, one of his hands even taking a hold of Dazai’s arm to hug and the other to thrust his fingers further inside. Dazai lets him use his hand as he pleases, knowing full well it’s not enough and it won’t be enough. 

Chuuya’s legs are shaking a lot now, slipping on the counter from the sweat. It gets to the point where Chuuya is trying to bounce on his fingers and can’t put enough height anymore, frustratingly gyrating his hips into his hand. Dazai changes his grip, holding him tighter by the middle and taking a hold of his waist instead of his arm, and he leans back. Chuuya slips on the counter, gasping, panicking for a second before realizing that he won’t fall. 

In this position, with Chuuya leaning back against Dazai it’s easier for them to see what Dazai’s hand is doing, and it’s easier for Chuuya to see what is happening to him. 

From the reflection Dazai can see Chuuya’s flushed face, eyes shut and mouth agape. His gasps are short little things that make his chest all tight. The sight of his fingers disappearing inside of Chuuya is addicting, plus insanely hot. He prods at the warm walls surrounding his fingers, massaging and spreading them in a chaotic rhythm. 

He sends a quick thanks to lady luck for giving him long fingers that at first were regarded as pianist’s fingers but now just strike him as the perfect tools to make Chuuya lose his mind. He prods with the pads, plunging deeper and deeper. Rough sometimes and gentle afterwards, gauging which one Chuuya likes best. 

Fast and dirty does the trick, it seems. 

Chuuya’s hands clumsily come up to hug Dazai’s arm tighter around him. And god, the sounds that escape Chuuya, plus the mess his own fingers are making, it’s a terribly obscene song that goes straight to his dick. 

He adds a third finger as a reward and Chuuya sighs in helpless relief, circling his hips so that they go even deeper. After a while that doesn’t seem to be enough, though. 

“St-stop taking your da- damn time!” Chuuya snaps. 

“Alright, sit still a moment” he says quietly, releasing Chuuya so he can sit on the counter without falling backwards. 

Dazai goes into the bedroom to get a condom and more lube, quickly coming back to slot himself behind Chuuya eagerly. Chuuya melts against him, heaving a bit. Dazai takes the condom and rolls it on himself, without looking because Chuuya has decided that he can’t support his weight anymore. He coats the length in another layer of lube. 

“Put one leg down,” he instructs and Chuuya shakily goes to do as he is told. It’s his right leg that slides down from the counter to land on the cold bathroom floor. Or, at least, tries to. With the height of the counter and the height of Chuuya himself, his toes barely graze the floor, which does not quite award him the leverage he craves. Choosing to be a bit nice, Dazai puts his foot underneath Chuuya’s. Chuuya's toes press against his.

“Good?” 

A nod. 

Like this, Chuuya’s left leg is lifted on the counter. Chuuya puts his weight on the hands in front of him, allowing Dazai to position himself and slowly push inside. Chuuya’s head hits the mirror, and his breaths fog up the glass. His hips circle back into him, Dazai is gripping his waist again, trying not to lose his damn mind. It’s a slow glide to the end, full of stops and gasps and many close-calls. Chuuya has to take a breather in the middle, because he’s clenching so hard around Dazai that it’s making this impossible. Regardless of the hurdle, Chuuya is adamant that they continue. 

Finally, god finally, they’re chest to back, Chuuya fully sitting on his dick. 

“Okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m gonna need you to put that stamina to good use now, okay?” 

Chuuya makes a noise against the mirror, the mix of a growl and a pained moan. 

“I know,” he says gently, carding Chuuya’s hair off to the side so it falls over his left shoulder. The leather choker around his neck is very, very distracting. He swallows hard. “I know, but you can do it, come on. I’ll help you.” 

Giving credit where it’s due, Chuuya readily puts a hand up and pushes it against the mirror, his forearm taking up the rest of his weight. He pushes back harshly, punching a breath from Dazai’s chest.

Dazai falls on top of him, pressing his sweaty forehead against his back, biting into the skin, barely holding back a whine. “Ohh, fuck yes…”

Reflected on the mirror is Chuuya’s smug smile. “You better keep up and do a good job or I'll tie you to the bed and ride you until you cry.” 

This comment hits home. It’s not degradation, which he’d hate, more like its distant cousin: a very arousing threat that makes him actually whimper into Chuuya’s ear. Chuuya doesn't wait for permission to wiggle against him, though it does signal Dazai to slide out enough so that he doesn't slip out and ram himself back inside. Chuuya jumps.

They go at it after that, blow for blow, meeting each other halfway. Over. And over. And over again. 

He doesn't know what he was thinking with this position, Dazai’s stamina is shot to hell after four years of doing jack shit. And naturally, because of fucking course, Chuuya is very athletic. He should have guessed based on his physique alone. It’s painfully evident in the way he’s easily able to pick up where Dazai lags behind and he takes what he wants. The most pathetic sounds are leaving his lips, and Chuuya is fueled on it, bouncing repeatedly without mercy. 

Chuuya's thigh is continually flat on the counter. The strength and flexibility he has to have to do this shit for so long, it really takes one’s breath away. Dazai’s limit reaches sometime later, he has no worldly idea how much time has passed. Enough is enough though. One of his hands presses against Chuuya’s back, forcing his stomach to meet the cold counter, and his forehead to thump against the granite. 

With this position it’s easier to ram into Chuuya like he wants, without the shorty taking the reins and treating Dazai like a damn toy. (Though isn’t that a thought?) Like this, Chuuya has no other choice but to take it and take it well. 

And take it he does. 

He’s forcing gasps out of Chuuya with each slap of skin against skin, addicting with how good they sound. From somewhere, who knows where, Chuuya finds the energy to push back against his thrusts, as small as the action itself is, they slam into each other. In retaliation for trying to get some control Dazai attempts to find a new angle, waiting for that one lucky shot-

“A-ah!” 

Dazai’s eyes are stinging from the sweat that has accumulated on his brow, he laughs nonetheless. “Found it?”

“D- do not fuh-fucking stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

They go on like this, with Chuuya clenching around him whenever he finds that right angle. His nails try to claw through the counter, slipping uselessly and awarding no leverage except the mirror. It’s fogged up to hell, the mirror. The picture is still clear however. Its reflection awarding him the visual stimulation of missionary and the animalistic rhythm of doggy style. Chuuya’s blissed out face is so fucking hot, it almost makes him stutter his steady tempo. Then he opens those beautiful blue eyes and they stare at him like he's his captor and savior wrapped into one, begging Dazai for scraps only he can give, lapping up whatever it is he'll get, and Dazai actually does stumble in his rhythm. 

Damn, mirror sex is god. 

His abs are killing, overworked. But to hell with tiredness, Dazai is mesmerized, just like last time, with that damn tattoo. It moves and twists and jesus it’s just so fucking hot he goes to bite into it. Chuuya arches his back with a pitchy cry, clenching around him. 

“Daz-Dazai…” Chuuya whines. “I can’t…Please?”  

“Okay, I got you, it's okay.” A hand snakes around his middle to grab Chuuya where he needs it most. The soft skin is wet and slippery, heavy and hot. He pumps to the same rhythm of everything else, causing Chuuya to gasp again and again. 

It feels so good how his dick is enveloped and tugged and it’s just sucking him in. Dazai’s mind is empty of anything else, only repeating the mantra of ‘faster, faster, faster.’ The building cacophony of sounds and skin and everything else, it ascends into what Dazai knows will be a memorable orgasm, something he doesn’t have the pleasure of enjoying too often. 

The chase fuels him for the last stretch, pounding into Chuuya and taking those sounds for himself. The heat builds from below his stomach and shoots up to his head. He can’t hold back the impulsive moan that is ripped from between his lungs. 

Chuuya releases into his fist, spilling on the floor, voice ragged and whimpering, eyes misty through the mirror. Dazai follows after a few more thrusts, his breath hitching. 

The tension breaks as soon as they do and now it’s time to bask in the afterglow of a good orgasm as well as the post-nut clarity. 

Godammit, they’ve done this again. 

Chuuya throws his body on the counter, gently and slowly putting down his other leg and groaning into his arms. “Ow…” he says petulantly. 

On the floor in between their feet they drip lube and cum. Chuuya’s legs tremble like that of a newborn fawn, knees knocking against each other. The tremors go up to his thighs, ridiculously obvious. That’s hot too. He gulps. 

“Get off me, you’re heavy,” Chuuya grumbles. 

Dazai dutifully obeys, slipping out and getting rid of the condom while he’s at it. When he turns back Chuuya is clumsily hopping on the counter, legs involuntarily kicking slightly from how hard they tremble. 

“Don’t look so smug, asshole!” Chuuya snaps. “It’s because you had me in that stupid position!” 

Dazai walks in between his legs, placing hands by his hips. He takes a deep breath, putting his height to good use. “Is that right?” he asks quietly in a voice that has never failed him before.

“...yes.” 

Dazai smiles wider. 

Chuuya punches him in the arm for it. Hard. 

“OW!” 

“You are such a weakling!” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “And your stamina is ass.” 

“I can’t take that seriously from the succubus himself.” 

“That’s not the insult you think it is.”

“Fact is fact,” he says simply. “You’re insatiable.” 

An answer doesn’t come, be it from Chuuya’s disinterest or because the thought is put on hold for something more important. Regardless, Chuuya asks: “How much time do we have now?” 

While he straps on his watch Dazai takes a look. “Enough to take you back to the bed and revive your legs.”

“Carry me,” he orders. “Or are you too weak?”

“Ugh, you weren’t this annoying last time.” 

Chuuya shrugs, spreading his arms for a piggy-back ride. Dazai is not amused so he chooses the most petty option possible. He takes Chuuya’s wrist in one hand and his leg in the other, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Chuuya’s nose hits his ribs. "Oh shit! What the fuck?!” 

“I’m carrying you,” he says. “Duh.”

Chuuya claws at his back angrily. “I’m going to kill you.” 

Dazai cheekily skips to the bed and throws him. “With what legs, shorty?” 

“Just because of that, you’re paying.” 

Dazai scoffs. “Yeah, whatever.” he throws himself backwards on the bed, bouncing alongside Chuuya. They stay like that for a bit. Dazai because he is spent, and Chuuya because his legs are too shaky to do anything else. Still a bit sore about being manhandled, Chuuya throws his legs on top of Dazai’s stomach, making him groan. He recovers though and takes the hint, massaging each leg because this is his fault and he should take responsibility.  

He can be a gentleman. 

Dazai has no desire to know how long they stayed there, sharing silence, in the end the result is this: Chuuya slowly pulling himself into sitting and crawling to the side of the bed. He throws over his shoulder all the pieces of clothing he abandoned before. His legs, Dazai notices with glee, are still a bit shaky. 

“This is becoming a habit between us, isn’t it?” Dazai breaks their silence, hauling himself to his feet to retrieve Chuuya’s underwear before being ordered to. 

Chuuya catches the boxers after Dazai throws them without warning. He slips into them with a grimace then slides on his jeans while sitting. “Once is happenstance, two is a coincidence and three times is a pattern.” He pulls on his shirt. 

“We got two down, one to go.”

Now the hoodie and the jacket. “Hm. I guess we have to try one last time, don’t we? To make sure?”

A slowly forming smile. “I am nothing if not very thorough, Chuuya.”

“So,” he says, backpack in hand and already about to leave. “Same time next week?”

“Your treat.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, a step away from the door. “Whatever,” he mocks. 

The door shuts, Dazai is alone smiling at his reflection on the ceiling. 

Love hotels are cool. 

Chapter Text

They’ve got a Routine now, with a capital R and everything. The love hotel is now their meeting place and an hour is all they get to work out pent up frustration from their lives. Whoever gets there first orders the room and can wait inside. The person that comes second has to pay. After that they fool around for an hour or whatever amount of time they have left, and part ways, happy and satisfied. 

It’s a good routine, something Dazai likes. But life isn’t predictable, as much as he wants it to be. Oda always tells him that their therapy isn’t about ‘fixing’ him, it’s about giving him the tools he’ll need to confront sudden changes and abrupt deviations from his day to day. It’s a part of life, he says, to roll with the punches and steer into the skid. 

There’s a reason Dazai likes to be over-prepared for lectures even though he could theoretically pass with the least amount of effort. There’s a reason he rolls hypothetical conversations with people he knows in his head for hours on end. There’s a reason he is always documenting the cause and effect of his daily life. 

It’s so he can be prepared. 

Needless to say, it’s during one of his and Chuuya’s meetings that the routine deviates only to crash and burn. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Being in law school means Dazai is always surrounded by people with an ulterior motive. It’s not specifically with bad intentions, it’s just that practicing the habit can only ever get one ahead in this career. Dazai doesn’t find it especially weird, he does live with Mori, but when he tells people about it they always grimace and say, “That has to be exhausting.” 

He didn’t really understand what was so exhausting about it, until Chuuya came into his life. 

“-and it’s like, he could totally clean after himself, but no! He’s used to others doing it for him. It’s like he’s stuck at fifteen or something, like he isn’t a twenty-three year old man. God, it’s so annoying, just because your parents died when you were a kid doesn’t mean you can get a pass on being a massive prick! Ugh, that’s too mean. I didn’t mean it, well… not really but maybe a bit. Anyway, Shirase then tells me I’m being a pill and ignores me! And now he’s acting like I’m the one in the wrong!” 

Chuuya paces the length of the room, (they're back in the same, boring, aquarium-less room) discarding pieces of clothing as he goes. He came in five minutes ago ranting without waiting to take a breath. Dazai has been sitting against the headboard this entire time, listening. 

It blows his mind a little bit. It’s like he doesn’t care that Dazai could potentially use this information against him later, be it in an argument or to prove a point or to just be a dick. He could use what is clearly only a comment made in the heat of the moment and ruin a long lasting relationship! 

He could… 

But he won’t. 

Because this is trust given willingly and without rules. Chuuya is giving him a piece of himself without explicitly laying down ground rules, trusting that Dazai will proceed with his best interest at heart. A naive way of living but hey, Dazai isn’t great at living or wanting to live so what does he know? 

It’s interesting to listen to. Chuuya keeps going on and on about little grievances that have built up over time. Contradicting himself a few times, which Dazai knows tends to happen when one is too deep in their stream of consciousness. He tries to turn off his law student brain, the one noting down the discrepancies and the flaws in logic, because this isn’t a debate and he isn’t here to be contrary. He’s here to have a good time, and for the time being, to listen to Chuuya’s problems. 

“So he hasn’t texted you?” he asks, mentally patting himself on the back for the casual question. 

“Hell no!” Chuuya says angrily, now down to his boxers. Dazai is momentarily distracted but blinks back into the conversation. “Yuan says I shouldn’t get myself worked up about this, because Shirase isn’t going to change. But if we let him go on like this it’s like we’re allowing him to keep being like this. It’s not like he’s forty or something, he could change, he just doesn't want to.” 

Chuuya throws himself on the bed, facing the ceiling. “It’s so tiring,” he groans into his hands. 

Dazai takes a deep breath, untangling his hands that have been resting over his stomach the entire time. He scoots closer to Chuuya, crossed legs by his head and peers down with what he hopes is a reassuring expression. “I think people should hold him accountable for what he does.” Dazai adds, “And I think you’re totally right on not letting him continue to be a dick.” 

Chuuya frowns, eyes evading him. Dazai would think he’s offended were it not for the very obvious flush to his face. “Thanks,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “Anyway! I didn’t come here for a therapy session!” He hauls himself into sitting, and turns towards Dazai. “Anything specific you wanna do this time?” 

“Are you under the impression that I have an itinerary or something?” 

“No,” he frowns. “But the last few times you had shit you wanted to do so I thought… Well, whatever. So, just regular sex then?” 

“No, no, no. You piqued my interest. Do you have something you wanna try?” 

Chuuya isn’t embarrassed, taking his half-teasing remark seriously. How someone could be this impervious to his shenanigans is beyond him. “I always wanted to try being tied up,” he says. “Ace didn’t strike me as the type to know how to do that.”

“You can say he’s too much of an idiot, it’s okay.” 

“Fine, yeah. It’s just that I’ve seen stuff on the internet and it looks complicated, the knots and stuff. I didn’t feel like doing all the work in finding rope and teaching him how to do it.” 

Dazai leans back against his hands. “I’m willing to try that, but maybe next time. Got no rope with me. Something else for now, ‘kay?” He makes a mental note to buy rope from a sex shop or just order one online. Something soft to start, hemp later if Chuuya is into it. 

“I’m drawing a blank.” 

Dazai uses his fingers to count up. “Off the top of my head there is: bareback, intercrural, amateur, roleplay, anal, hentai, threesome, fingering, gaming, orgy, parody-”

“Are you listing porn categories?”

“Is it helping?” 

Chuuya pauses. “A little, yeah. But none of those catch my attention.” 

“Oh, I know!” Dazai takes out his phone. “The BDSM test! We can do that!”

“I haven’t done that test since high school.” 

He smiles. “Now is as good a time as any.” 

“Okay, sure.” Chuuya leans across the bed to fish his phone out of his pants from the floor. “Are we doing the long one?” 

“Duh,” Dazai says, already starting his test. It’s been years since he completed it for fun as a teenager. By that time he was still a virgin, and most of his preferences were based on what he liked to watch online. Giddy with excitement, he gets more comfortable. Chuuya does so as well, throwing himself on his stomach to do his own test. His back tattoo continues to be very distracting which means he’s behind Chuuya on the test. 

Throughout the completion of the test Dazai begins to notice things. It’s one of his most annoying and useful traits—noticing things. One can’t be paranoid if they’re right, after all. Oda doesn’t like that little sentiment, which is why he doesn't say it out loud anymore. Regardless, it lives on inside of him, this gut feeling that has saved his ass many times. Right now, his gut is telling him that something has changed. The silence isn’t pressing per se, it isn’t much of anything. As far as Dazai knows he hasn’t done anything wrong and Chuuya hasn’t hinted at something being wrong. But maybe that’s the problem here. 

Chuuya, for all intents and purposes, is as he always is. Fidgeting while he taps on the screen of his phone, cracking his knuckles against the bed. He’s lounging, comfortable in his own skin in that very special way Dazai can’t get enough of. All of this points to: ordinary. 

But then, if all is well, why isn’t he cracking jokes at Dazai’s expense, whereas in previous encounters that seems to be his favorite pastime. Why isn’t he babbling about what he’s thinking, an unfiltered stream of consciousness. Why doesn’t Chuuya feel like himself?

That’s the question of the night, isn’t it? Why? 

And less pressing but just as important: how? How can Dazai fix it? 

Until he gets more proof that he’s right, or the opposite, Dazai is willing to humor this pretense. 

They both finish in ten minutes, Chuuya in eight but whatever. 

“Wow,” Chuuya says. “This is new.” 

They switch phones and Dazai reads Chuuya’s list quickly. At the top in green text is submissive, masochist, rope bunny and—shocker—exhibitionist. After that in a lighter shade of green is switch, experimentalist, rigger and brat. In yellow is voyeur, vanilla, sadist and dominant. In orange and red are the ones Chuuya is clearly not interested in, like ageplay, master/mistress, degrader, degradee etc. Dazai’s own results go hand in hand with Chuuya’s. Where Chuuya’s results lean towards the ‘giver’ role, Dazai’s leans towards the ‘take.’ Near the middle is where they both share a flexibility in their roles. 

Chuuya sighs, returning Dazai’s phone and taking his own back. “We already did exhibitionism, and rigging is for another day. Sadomasochism is on the table, I guess, but what does that imply?” He wilts. “This didn’t do what I expected it to. Your idea sucks.” 

Dazai laughs lightly and decides to prod for a reaction. “Ye of little faith, where’s your creativity, Chuuya! Aren’t you curious about testing your masochism?”

“In what way?” is the unsure question. Hint number one that something isn't right. 

“Off the top of my head,” he says honestly. “I’m thinking: overstimulation and edgeplay. What do you say? We can even try testing your more submissive side.” 

Chuuya rolls his phone in his hands, buying time. Hint number two, clearly not eager or excited. 

“I’m pretty sure we would need a safe word for that.” 

“There's the tried and true method of red, yellow, green.” 

Chuuya nods absentmindedly and Dazai frowns. And that is proof number three. Enough is enough. 

“Okay, Chuuya, let me be frank. We don’t have to do anything like this now, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to!” he says too quickly. Dazai doesn’t believe a word of it. It must show on his face because Chuuya tries to insist. “Really, come on. How’d you wanna do this? Me on top or what?” 

“You do know I won’t be annoyed or anything. right?” Dazai continues slowly, “If you want we can totally just fool around until our hour is up. This-” he gestures at them and the room. “Is to let off steam. Not to add to our stress.” 

Chuuya is frowning now, equal parts confused and uncomfortable. “But you want to do it," he says slowly, like this is obvious. "And I brought it up.” 

“But you don’t want to do it anymore,” he points out just barely catching himself from injecting that ‘are you an idiot’ tone of voice. “Chuuya, I feel like I’m teaching you the basics here. I’m not cool with doing something you don’t want to. Is that so crazy? I’m pretty sure this is the bare minimum of decency. And I’m saying that.” That makes Chuuya laugh, the sound successfully breaking the building tension. “Tell me honestly, yes or no, did you change your mind? I’ll know if you lie,” he warns. 

One would think Dazai has just asked him the meaning of life with how long it takes Chuuya to formulate an answer. His face gets all shuttered, and his eyes refuse to migrate further than Dazai’s chin. 

“I was the one to bring it up,” Chuuya says quietly. “So I didn’t wanna back out but…” Chuuya, if possible, makes himself smaller, curling into himself and hiding behind his hair. 

Dazai scoots closer, craning his head to the side to catch Chuuya’s eyes. “You're the hottest person I’ve seen in real life. I will enjoy anything you want to do. Even if it’s just second base.” 

Another half-laugh. “That makes me feel worse.”

Dazai chuckles at the dramatics, loosely hugging Chuuya to bring him closer to his chest. The weight feels nice, his arms naturally coming around Chuuya’s shoulders and under his knees to heave him into his lap. “I guarantee you there will come a time I won’t wanna do anything either, just you wait.” His antidepressants will see to that, he thinks bitterly. 

(Privately he thinks he should ask Oda if this is weird or not—Chuuya’s reluctance to say no. He thinks it might be.) 

“Can we just make out first?” Chuuya mumbles into his chest. 

“Yeah,” he laughs again, weirdly endeared by Chuuya acting so uncharacteristically shy. It’s a little concerning how reluctant he is to tell him he doesn’t want to do something. He’s beginning to think Chuuya is one of those chronic people pleasers, those that will appease and surrender ground until they don’t have anything else to give. With a deep breath he says, “Okay! Wanna sit on my lap, or do you wanna do this the other way around?”

“Your lap,” he says, back to his confident self. Dazai finds that he likes this version of Chuuya a lot. Direct and earnest. Transparent- No. Honest. It’s the nicest change of pace he’s had in a long while. 

Dazai goes back to sitting against the headboard, now with Chuuya’s legs bracketing him and hands with painted nails resting on his shoulders. Chuuya waits patiently for Dazai to get situated, and Dazai thinks that Chuuya really likes not having to take the reins. From his earlier rant Chuuya is most likely the mother hen of his friend group, the untitled leader that takes charge of everything. It must be tiring to be someone to lean on with no one at his back. 

He smiles stupidly. 

“What?” Chuuya asks, slightly annoyed. 

“Nothing, now come closer,” he tugs Chuuya by his waist. Chuuya slots their hips together, and leans in. They take a second to breathe each other in, weirdly intimate without the desperate pawing. Dazai nestles against the other’s cheek, pressing light kisses down to his collarbone, then up again until they’re eye to eye. Chuuya is the one that closes the distance, as small as it is. Now that Dazai has got the ball rolling Chuuya is more than eager to get this show on the road. Dazai follows his lead, more attuned than normal to the subtle signs that Chuuya might not be comfortable. 

Based on touch and sound, Chuuya isn’t uncomfortable. If anything he seems to be relaxing now. Unlike previous encounters though, the air isn’t charged or tense. Dazai is fully in the moment now, enjoying the very simple act of kissing someone very, very hot. He isn’t lost in feeling, or weirdly focused on getting Chuuya to react. He’s simply there, letting Chuuya set the pace while also keeping a steady hand on what they’re doing. It’s a fragile balance, one he thinks he likes. It comes from allowing Chuuya to take what he needs while also gently steering them towards something they’ll both enjoy. It comes from, he thinks, a protective streak he didn’t know he had. The little furrow between Chuuya’s brows isn’t from anxiety, but from the ragged breathing he’s panting against his cheek while Dazai sucks new marks on his neck. 

Chuuya begins to make slow circles with his hips at the six minute mark. He begins to whine at seven and he's shaking helplessly by ten. 

“Oh Chuuya, so desperate so soon? We barely even started.”

“Shut. Up.”

Dazai has his hands on Chuuya’s hips, guiding him into grinding down on his dick. It's stimulating without being completely overwhelming, for Dazai at least. Chuuya is quickly pent up, possibly because he doesn't have antidepressants working against him, but whatever, that's not important. The point here is this: Chuuya is whining into his shoulder while rubbing himself aggressively against Dazai’s lap. That's another thing he's starting to realize he loves: the sounds. Oh god, the sounds. 

They're low sometimes, raspy and deep. But sometimes they're pitchy and sharp. The contrast, the dichotomy, that damn contradiction. Rough and violent outside, soft and malleable on the inside. The chase and the pursuit of knocking down Chuuya’s defenses, the fact that he's allowed to see him this way. It's an intoxicating power trip. 

Chuuya’s hands grip him by the shirt, pulling in frustration, sweaty forehead pushing down on his shoulder. 

“Yes?" he asks quietly. "Need something?”

“Stop being so useless.”

“Useless how?”

A whine. “You know how.”

“No, I don't think I do.” The hands at the naked waist over his lap curls tighter, forcibly bringing Chuuya that much closer. So much so, their breaths knock against the other. “Spell it out for me Chuuya,” he pleads sweetly. “How am I useless.”

He groans, aggrieved and annoyed. “No…”

“No what?”

“‘s embarrassing. Don't be a dick.”

“Spell it out for me or I'll stop.”

Another groan, this one lower. Dangerous. “Dazai,” he warns. 

Sweet, then sour, he thinks in amusement. The hand at Chuuya’s hip trails up and up, across his back until it grips the base of his skull. The messy ponytail is held by a black hair tie that he slips off and lets fall to the side. His hand grabs a fistful of gorgeous copper but instead of gripping it or pulling it, he brushes over one shoulder. His fingers gently sweep his bangs to the side and his voice pitches low to whisper in Chuuya’s ear: 

“Come on, Chuuya. Tell me what you need. Please?"

Two can play at the same game. Sour or sweet. 

Chuuya melts, quietly with a voice that breaks, he whimpers, “He- help me… cum… please?”

A guttural groan escapes from somewhere in his chest. “You're gonna kill me, I swear.” He rolls them off to the side, pushing Chuuya on his back. He pulls down Chuuya’s boxers in one motion, face to face with his stomach and crotch. Fingers dig into the meat of delicious thighs and hook them over his shoulders without warning. Then, he dives right in. 

And Chuuya keens. 

Helpless hands bury themselves into his hair, and his torso twists, both trying to get away for a bit of relief and trying to get closer for release. Either way, Dazai doesn't pay attention, he gulps down Chuuya’s length until his nose hits his delectably toned abdomen. The head hits the back of his throat and he's dangerously close to gagging. His jaw gets tight so he relaxes it even more. Chuuya is gasping into his hands, hiding behind them. 

Dazai lifts himself up, dragging his lips around the girth, salivating and adding to the mess. Then goes back down. Torturously slowly. The thighs around his head squeeze him and boy what a way to die. Between Chuuya’s legs, now that's a sweet way to go. 

The rhythm he sets is constant, slurping up and down and hollowing his cheeks just to hear that little intake of breath that is taking all of Chuuya’s concentration to not let out. 

To be completely honest, Dazai has never been a fan of giving head. He's more into what he can do with his hands. Well into the second decade of his life he has found that his mouth is better used for whispering filth into someone's ear. It gets him prize worthy results every time. But just as with everything else, Chuuya has to knock down the status quo and make him reevaluate everything he has known up to now. Because if this is what he gets with oral: Suffocating pressure around his head. Broken, almost breathless cries. A lengthy whine that is more like a sob than anything else. 

Damn it, when he's wrong he's fucking wrong. This is heaven. 

“More, more, more-!”

He should get a backbone when he's around Chuuya one of these days but dammit, apparently cute boys begging for his attention is his damn kryptonite. 

His jaw is tired and his throat is sore. He's been going at this for a while now and he's so fucking hard in between his legs. A hand has been shakily taking the edge off throughout this entire thing but it's not enough. He needs more. 

Come to find out he apparently lets out a needy sound from his throat. To be perfectly honest he has no recollection of this but in the end it gives him what he needs. 

“Feels good,” Chuuya starts to mumble against his hands. “So good, so good! You're so good, so good for me, Dazai. I ca-can’t take it anymore, pleaseee. Please… Please let me- lemme cum, please! I've been good, please?”

And holy hell does that do it for him. His hand, deep inside his pants works faster to get himself off, chasing that high that's always so unattainable on a good day and downright impossible on a bad one. But with Chuuya it's so easy to fall and fall and- 

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Cum dribbles down the corner of his mouth and splatters on the bed because he refuses on principle to swallow—for Christ's sake, he rejects most foods because of their texture. Chuuya doesn't mind or care or notice. He is spent, heaving deep breaths and still hiding his pretty face behind his hands. Dazai grimaces down at his own lap, wondering if it was worth it to ruin his underwear when he's got a good many blocks to walk to his house after this. 

Regardless, Dazai climbs up Chuuya’s body and let's his weight fall on top. Chuuya’s hands, warm and soft, wrap around his back and play around with his hair. He breathes out a sigh that's so adorably content. “Did you really cum from giving me head-”

“Let's not talk, Chuuya. You'll ruin the moment.”

“Pfft, sure.”

They stay like that for a good, long while. Enough time that Dazai is losing the afterglow and Chuuya is starting to complain about his weight. He rolls off to the side, closing his eyes but not drifting. 

For the life of him he can't say how in the hell they ended up talking about mundane shit, but the reality is that Chuuya was suddenly laying on his side and playing with his hair, while Dazai rested his eyes with an arm behind his head. 

“What are you gunning for after graduation?” Chuuya asks now. “Attorney at law? Judge? Are you gonna be president?”

“Ugh, no. Those are all positions with too much overtime and frankly, I can’t be bothered.”

“What do you want to do then?”

“Preferably I want a cushy job where I do the bare minimum and they pay me enough to live.”

“You’re going to the best school in the country just to settle for a desk job with a livable wage?” Chuuya deadpans. His fingers busy themselves by braiding a thin plait on the side of his head, right behind his ear. “Didn’t it occur to you to just get a random job instead of going to school?”

“It wasn’t even my idea to go to this school,” he points out, shivering from the light touches against his ear. “I was coerced. If it were up to me I would’ve spent my days rotting in bed.” 

“Oh.”

Oops, too honest.

“Very sexy, right?” he asks self deprecatingly. 

“Hm. You’re not very interested in living, are you?”

“Am I that transparent?”

No answer.

“Well, ask me now," Chuuya demands. 

“What do you wanna be when you grow up, Chuuya.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes at the sarcasm. “I like space. So, anything that allows me to work with space. I wouldn’t want an academic position, like teaching. I don’t think I’m cut out for that-” Says the tutor, Dazai thinks dryly. “-but research for space exploration or satellite development would be very cool.”

“Chuuya the astronaut,” he says slowly. 

“I wouldn’t wanna be an astronaut.” Chuuya thinks for a bit. “I just want to build stuff that actually works and that helps us understand what the hell is out there a helluva lot better.”

“Ambitious.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Not this time, actually.” Dazai smiles. “I admire that. I kinda wish I had some of that drive too.”

It's quiet for a second. “Me too," he says quietly. "But only because it makes you so sad that you don’t.”

“That’s weirdly sweet.”

“I won't be this nice again so don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t gonna.”

The phone rings suddenly, signaling the end of their hour. Since they’re done Chuuya leans across the bed to pick up and inform the front desk they’ll be leaving shortly. Dazai is distantly upset that the moment is over. He was almost about to sleep right then and there. 

Ugh, next time then. 

They dress on opposite sides of the room, not for any long-lost sense of shame, but because Chuuya has to hop into his very tight pants and it takes up a lot of space for him to do so. Dazai, meanwhile, is a little loopy from their intimate romp, which is the only explanation as to why he decides that now is the time to rewind his bandages.

Bad decision. 

He doesn’t notice anything is wrong until Chuuya gasps, horrified, and jumps over the bed to crowd into him. His hands hover over Dazai’s forearm, now out for the world to see. It’s with dawning horror that Dazai realizes what he has done. Jesus, there’s a reason he keeps these on during sex, and there’s a reason why he readjusts them in the bathroom. 

How could he be this stupid. 

Chuuya is completely ignorant of his downward spiral, going on a freak out of his own. “What- What? Why?” He’s gasping on his words, unable to finish a sentence before starting another one. “Are you-? No, clearly. But then, why didn’t you say…? Not that you have to.” 

Dazai tries to come to peace with what’s coming. Chuuya is definitely not gonna want to sleep with him after this. Who wants damaged goods anyway? He sighs, gently extracting Chuuya’s hands from his arm. The angry red lines that mark his skin from the crook down to the wrist looks worse than it is which maybe isn't saying a lot. Today marks the third day since he did this, so it’s not that bad but it’s also not good either. The irritated skin around the cuts look angry and are warm to the touch. The friction from the bandages tends to do that. 

“It’s nothing, Chuuya.” Knowing he is not going to be believed with such a half-assed answer, he adds, “I don’t do it very often and it’s not to kill myself.” Chuuya flinches. Ah, too blunt. “I can control myself.”

“You sound like an addict. ‘I can stop whenever I want!’”

“I can.”

“So do it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because-” 

Hm. 

Because it feels good to be punished, honestly. 

The pain reminds him that he’s alive. This is the least of what he should get, he deserves worse. This is routine, it’s natural at this point. Inevitable. What would he be without these marks that show him he’s as vulnerable as the rest of them? What would he be without tangible proof that he has repented for his mistakes. 

He cut himself last month because of a stupid oversight on his thesis. The week after was because he snapped at his younger brother again without meaning to. The week after that was because he ate like garbage and it had begun to show on the scale. And the week after that, three days ago, was because he just missed the perpetual stinging pain that reminds him he’s alive. 

“Forget it. Not like you’d understand.” 

He winces internally. There he goes again, hurting those he doesn't want to hurt. This blunder deserves another layer on top of the slowly healing cuts. He’s already thinking of buying a new box cutter on the way home, his old one is starting to rust because he never bothers to clean the blade after using it, but Chuuya isn’t having it. 

“So make me understand! If someone can’t explain something simply then they’re just making excuses for being stupid.” He pins earnest eyes on him. “So?! Are you stupid?”

Dazai opens his mouth. 

“No, you’re not,” he gets cut off. “So explain it to me or I’m following you home.”

Defeated, Dazai asks, “Explain what exactly?” 

It’s a genuine question, Chuuya must hear it too. He takes Dazai’s hand and leads him back to the edge of the bed. The bed-springs complain under their combined weight, sitting side by side. It’s a different atmosphere than before and countless other times when the bed-springs would be an accompaniment to other more lewd sounds. Now it’s the only noise present, aside from his soft breathing and the thundering of his heart. 

He has never had to talk about this to anyone but his therapist, and Oda is an exception to many of his rules so that’s just obvious.

The again, so is Chuuya. 

“What made you do these?” Chuuya now points at the criss-cross mess of his forearm, angrier than the neat lines on the inside of his arm. Dazai doesn't have the heart to explain that what Chuuya is pointing to is actually an amalgamation of many repeated occurrences. He thinks back on the latest one for simplicity’s sake. 

“I got angry at my step-dad.”

In reality it was a lot more serious than that. Cruelty was thrown and many ugly things were said. Mori knows how to cut deep with words, the same way Dazai does with a knife. They have that in common. 

‘I got angry at my step-dad’ is juvenile, petulant by design. Dazai always uses his words purposely, as any law student would. These ones are meant to incite the natural question of, ‘is that it?’ It will give him an excuse to storm off in anger, because 'how could you ask that, Chuuya?' 

In reality, he wouldn’t take it to heart, because it’s by his own manipulation that Chuuya will inevitably say-

“I’m so sorry.”

Huh?

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. If you don’t mind telling me, what did he say?” 

Dazai is too stunned to change the subject. “Nothing that wasn't true,” he lies out of instinct. 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

‘You don’t try, Osamu. You never do.’ 

‘You’ve got everything handed to you. Why do you insist on being sad?’

‘Your life is perfect! You have what other kids your age would kill to have!’ 

‘Honestly, what would your mother say if she was still alive.’ 

“Maybe some of it is true…” 

“It’s not,” Chuuya says firmly. His hands, warm always warm, turn his face towards him. Their noses brush and Dazai can count Chuuya’s eyelashes. Light in color, easy to miss. “I know it.” 

“How?”

“Because we're alike in that way. You’re not the type to take stuff personally, not unless it’s something horrible. You’ve got thick skin, Dazai. Maybe it's the fact that it’s your step-dad saying this stuff, or maybe it’s the shit he said to you, whatever the case may be I know that you have every right to be upset.”

“You’ve put too much stock into damaged goods,” he says. 

Chuuya frowns, shaking his head. “No. I did not.” 

Dazai expels a deep sigh. His head drops down to Chuuya’s shoulder, the slope of his nose tucked into the leather of his choker. He mouths at the skin, nipping it softly, for once without evil intentions but just because it’s there and Chuuya always tastes so good. 

Chuuya doesn’t react, other than the quiet shivers caused by the ticklish sensation. 

“You know… you’re too nice to me.” 

“I’m really not,” Chuuya mumbles. “Your standards are so bad I don’t think people are nice enough to you.” 

“Maybe.”

‘You’ve got no real reason to feel like this, Osamu. Tell me, is this just another cry for attention?’

For someone so smart Mori can be an idiot sometimes. Dazai knows that what he’s saying has no merit, Oda has explained it to him many times. He himself has researched the matter on his own. Regardless, knowing but hearing it doesn't make it hurt less. 

He straightens and his sigh is punctuated by him pressing his forehead against Chuuya’s. ‘You're so stupid,’ he thinks to himself. ‘You’re twenty-three and you still act like a little kid.’

Chuuya tugs gently at his hair. “You’re thinking stupid stuff.” 

“How does Chuuya know?”

“I just know. Plus, you made a face.”

“What kind of face?”

“Like you were going to cry.”

“I don’t cry, Chuuya.” 

“That’s not good.” 

“So true,” he sighs, purposely directing his breath into Chuuya’s ear to make him shake. 

“Stop it.” 

They stay like that so long that the front desk has to call them again to tell them to get the hell out. Chuuya helps him tug his bandages in place, and his eyes don’t stray or betray awkwardness. Dressed and ready they leave their room. 

Chuuya goes to pay, passing his card over to the nice lady at the front. Dazai doesn’t leave, going against their reliable routine and sticking around until the transaction is over. After that they go out into the street together. By the curb is where they have to part ways. Chuuya lives in the opposite direction. 

“Uh, I know It’s none of my business. You can tell me to fuck off or whatever but I just thought I’d ask…”

Amused, maybe even endeared, Dazai scoffs. “Spit it out, Chuuya.”

“If you feel bad enough to,” he tapers off. “Do that, could you text me? I know it won’t fix anything but maybe it will do you good to rant? Like how I do. Whatever can ease a bit of your stress, I don’t mind.” 

Dazai could mention how he has Oda’s personal phone number and that whenever he’s on the precipice of a bad decision it’s his therapist's number he calls. But those calls and messages always end with him bleeding on his bathroom floor so why not give this a try.

“Sure, Chuuya. Gimme your phone, I’ll write it down.” Dazai fights with himself on whether or not to put a stupid nickname as his contact information but decides against the more funny idea and decides to keep it tame. Chuuya has dealt with enough of his shit today. 

He hands back the phone, waiting patiently for Chuuya to read the name on the screen, but the shorty decides to keep surprising him and pockets it immediately. “Uh, could you, uh promise me? I mean,” he says. “I know I have no right to ask that of you, but…” 

“Sure,” he smiles. “Pinky promise or are we enacting a tacit agreement?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, as in we both reach an understanding of what we expect the other to do without explicitly saying it.” 

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “God, just speak normally next time. Yeah, tacit whatever.” 

Dazai smiles. “Great. See ya, Chuuya.” And he leaves. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

By the time he gets home Chuuya has texted him. 

>i changed your contact information<

>No way i’m keeping you as That Hot Piece Of Ass<

He laughs a bit as he toes off his shoes, texting back quickly. 

He gets so lost in their conversation the thought of buying a box cutter, or even using one, is far from his mind by the time he goes to sleep.

And the next day he won’t remember even wanting to. 

Chapter Text

It's one of those days today. 

He has an exam in a few minutes but no willingness to actually attend. He's in his room, rotting slowly on his bed with nothing to do. 

'One of those days' is never easy. 

The new box cutter he bought a few days ago lays innocently on his bedside table, clean and new. This one has a yellow plastic grip. The blue one he had before is in the trash. The rust was starting to become a health concern. 

The exam he’s supposed to be taking is not necessarily a hard one but he's not willing to gamble on his grade. He hasn't studied and he hasn't read a single word of his notes. 

Aeronautical law is a required course, as opposed to Electoral law that is not. That really boggles the mind, he thinks. In his opinion both should be required courses but hey, he’s not the one in charge, is he? Adding to that is his thesis that he is doing in tangent to his last year. It’s an ambitious schedule, the one he keeps. The insurmountable weight of it sits heavy on his shoulders when ‘one of those days’ comes knocking at his door. 

Why is he feeling this way? He took his pills, he hasn’t been skipping its rigid schedule. Even worse! He’s been taking them at the same time every single day! So what’s the damn problem here? Why is he sewn to his dirty bed sheets and why can’t he get up long enough to do something worthwhile? Mori is going to come back from work and the maids are going to tattle on him and inform his step-dad that he hasn’t left his room all day since yesterday after six in the evening. 

Yesterday hadn’t been bad. If anything it was ordinary in every way. The same routine, a regular Wednesday. Nothing particularly bad happened, and he can’t think of a reason he should be feeling so… bad. 

Then again, when has he ever felt truly good? Sure, he hits a few high points every so often, but those never last. Odasaku says that’s just how life is. There’s good and there’s bad and none of them are forever. A bittersweet sentiment. ‘One of those days’ won’t be permanent, but in the same vein nor will ‘one of those good days.’ Good days, like whenever he actually feels a strike of pride in his academics, or whenever he gets to see Chuuya and he’s reminded by his mere presence that the horrible tar inside Dazai’s veins isn’t a deal breaker. Whenever he comes across his step-brother in the middle of the night in the kitchen and they share a quiet moment of almost non-animosity. 

The good times don’t last, nor do the bad. 

That isn’t as uplifting as Odasaku thinks it is. 

If everything passes eventually, then what’s the point of trying? Time erodes steady connections, why should he make friends if they’ll later grow distant? If the good things he’s working towards—a future, a career—are temporary, then why is he trying so damn hard? It doesn’t seem worth it. 

His phone makes an obnoxious vibrating sound, rattling against his bedside table and clattering his newly bought box cutter. He wonders what the notification could be. Maybe a mass text sent by the T.A., notifying everyone that their exam will begin any minute now. It could also be Chuuya with a random text about his day or his work or a thing he saw. 

Just as easily it could be a notification from his email or his settings. A new update perhaps? 

The stale air of his room doesn’t faze him anymore, though he’s sure that if he were to go out and come back in he’d smell the scent of built up sweat. A shower sounds good, but it’s so much work to undress and wash and dry and redress. That’s about twenty minutes of his life right there. 

Dazai lets his head loll to the side, hair plastered against his forehead. The box cutter is still there. Pristine. He could make use of it… but then that's so much work. It would feel so good though, to see new scars, feel them throb. But then he’ll have to clean up after himself. 

But then, but then, but then…

He’ll make up the exam another day, he’ll just need to fake a doctor’s note and be done with it. Mori has his prescription notepad around in his office, and his signature is so familiar at this point it’s easier to do than his own. By being his step-dad, Dazai is guaranteed a low percent chance of being found out. They don’t share a last name, and none of his professors would ever go out of their way to investigate a doctor's note that looks so legit.

It’s a little darker outside when he makes up his mind. If he’s busy in the shower when Mori gets here then maybe he won’t be confronted at all. And then, after a nice shower he can come back and drift for the remainder of the night. He gets up, slowly. Too light-headed to stand up quite yet, Dazai kills time by sitting on the side of his bed with his head hanging low. 

His phone vibrates again. The knife shakes. He takes the knife and his phone is abandoned. 

Since he’s going to shower, he could stand to make use of his purchase. The evidence will run down the drain anyway. 

His phone vibrates. Another notification. 

An aggrieved sigh is expelled from deep in his chest. Dazai places the knife to the side and grabs his phone. It’s just as he thought: a mass-text from the T.A. and a few notifications from his email. And then...? Ah. Right. Yesterday's unread message from Chuuya that he forgot about. He taps the chat to read what he missed. Out of nowhere Chuuya is suddenly online and typing. 

>can you tell your brother he left his wallet behind?<

>i see youre finally alive you fucking jackass<

>dont worry about letting him know, I gave it back today during our tutoring session. He didn’t even notice it was gone<

He types out a response quickly. 

>oops<

>my bad<

He locks it up and throws his phone to the side. Back to his box cutter. 

Another notification. 

He goes back to read it. 

>are you free rn?<

>im at the library and my last tutoring appointment cancelled<

Dazai: 

>no thanks<

>another time< 

Chuuya responds before Dazai even has a chance to silence his phone. 

>whats with you?<

>are you ok?<

Okay, now what?

He could tell the truth. God knows Dazai really wants to spitefully throw a harsh truth Chuuya’s way and see what happens. But then Odasaku’s words come back to haunt him and he takes a few deep breaths. His bad mood isn’t Chuuya’s fault. He wouldn’t deserve attitude when he’s so clearly trying to be nice. 

It takes more effort than he’d like to admit to remain civil. 

>having a bad day thats all<

He puts it purposely vague so as to not give too much away, and yet…

>oh. I see<

>should i leave you alone or do you wanna talk?<

Oh. 

Hm. 

>i want some time alone thanks<

He’ll definitely be cringing at showing too much later today, but for now he deems this a good enough interaction. No bridges burned deserves an A for effort. 

>alright, take care ok?<

And that's that. 

He takes the box cutter to the shower, adamant on adding a new layer of ruined skin to his arm. The hot water rolls down his back and warms his frozen toes and fingers. A light layer of cold sweat goes down the drain. The blade is kissing his skin, pressed down against it. Dazai wants to do it, he really does. But Chuuya is still in his head, very present and very real. 

He manages the most shallow nick against his forearm and groans in frustration. 

“Goddammit Chuuya!”

His voice echoes in the bathroom, the same bathroom where he and Chuuya first fooled around. The first of many instances. 

The last time they did something, back at the love hotel, Chuuya had seen his arms and he was so concerned. 

His eyes burn. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He finishes the shower, the box cutter now hidden inside a bathroom drawer.

Clean. 

This is so not fair. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Friday is a little better in that Dazai manages to get out of his room in time for class. The eyes of every person that passes by gives him hives and his clothes don’t fit right and he’s pretty sure he has never looked so fucking tired. His two classes end early and he can leave at a relatively okay time. He’s looking down at his phone as he steps into the hallway when a voice forces him to stop. 

“Dazai!” 

He looks up and there’s Ranpo, leaning against a wall while eating marshmallows straight from the bag. 

“Yeah?”

“I have a proposition!” 

Dazai doesn’t respond. 

Ranpo is undeterred, even smiling wider. He crosses the sea of students, stopping way too close. “See, I’ve got this kid that’s taking Labor Law. He’s a business major and Fukuzawa told me to tutor him. But, the thing is, I don’t want to-”

Dazai stops listening after that, checking out of the conversation the minute it became evident Ranpo was lording off his responsibilities on him. And also wondering how the hell Ranpo is on a first name basis with one of the scariest professors in this university.

“-and so he got up and left in the middle of my reasonable argument, which is kinda childish by hey, the kid’s eighteen, so whatever. Anyway I told Fukuzawa this and he told me to find a solution or he’d have my head. So will you help or not?”

“No,” he says quickly and walks away. Now is not the time to try new things. 

Ranpo follows him, uncaring. “Hey, don't reject me so quickly. You can get paid by the school.”

“Don’t need the money.” 

“You’ll be helping a poor scholarship kid.”

“Don’t care.” 

Ranpo steps in his way. “What will it take?” 

“Why are you bothering me with this? There are more qualified people than me.”

“I got a recommendation.” 

“From?”

“Chuuya.” 

Something shows on his face, though he has no clue what. Ranpo does, his grin getting more sinister. “Ah, you know him?” he asks but by the tone it's more like he's stating the obvious. 

“No,” Dazai says anyway. 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Ranpo smiles. “Is that a yes?”

It’s a fact of life that no self-respecting law student can be a pushover. Dazai isn’t about to become an exception. Faking a smile, he evades the entire situation by saying, “Ask me next week, alright?” and leaves. 

“I’ll hold you to that!”

If Ranpo remembers to ask him about this next week, then Dazai will know he is truly adamant and isn’t just fucking with him. Maybe by the time he asks again, Dazai will have enough force of will to say fuck off without wanting to die inside. 

The eternal dilemma: to be liked or to live how he likes. 

He can consult with Oda about this, though Dazai is pretty sure he knows what he will say. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As he gets older, he has more tangible reasons to hate himself. Mistakes, regrets. His past is decorated with irreversible fuck ups he can't undo. 

He humors the idea of dying while he waits out in the waiting room of the psychologist's office, daydreaming idly of the consequences. He comes to a stop when he thinks of what he'd write on his suicide note. Whatever he decides to write, what would people think? He has a privileged life and he hasn't faced anything traumatic. The obituary: Rich, final year law student kills himself months before getting his diploma. Survived by a step-brother and step-father and nobody else. 

‘For what?’ people would ask. ‘Why?’ 

‘He had it so good when he was alive.’ 

‘So many opportunities others would kill to have’ 

‘Why did he throw it away?’

The secretary up front calls out his name softly, telling him to go on ahead. Dazai gets up slowly and drags his feet to Oda’s office. His psychologist is sitting in an armchair, tablet on hand. 

“Good morning,” OdaSaku says amicably. “Cold today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He sits on the other armchair, forgoing the couch facing Oda. 

“So, catch me up on your week.” 

Starting to talk is always so hard for some reason. Forget the fact that Dazai has been doing this for years now, whenever Oda asks him to talk or explain, his silver tongue gets tied up and he’s dead in the water. Eventually, like always, he gets on with it. A stilted summary of what happened, what he felt and what he did. Oda listens quietly, his tablet turned off in his lap. Dazai wonders why he has the thing in the first place, he has never seen it being used. 

The hour passes slowly. Oda extracts the truth out of him with pointed questions he half answers. Oda isn’t the type to smile without reason, he’s a serious man. Dazai prefers it this way. It often happened that upon first meeting a new psychologist he’d put up a mask of 'friendly and approachable young man' and then as the appointments piled up he’d shed his disguise in fragments. By the time the mask was in tatters by his feet his psychologists had no idea how to deal with him. What worked at first, light-hearted jokes interspersed with his issues, were met with stone cold silence on his end. A few would make the effort to adapt to him, but more often than not they’d reach an impasse. Dazai would shut down and the psychologist wouldn’t know how to proceed. 

Until Oda that is. 

Dazai put up his ‘public face’ and made conversation and smiled and did it all. Oda was stoic. When Dazai shed the mask bit by bit, Oda remained the same. As simple as that, they kept meeting up every Saturday and Oda was patient. 

That isn’t to say that Dazai doesn’t count down the seconds to the end of the hour. 

It’s five to ten when Oda levels him with a look. “Have you tried what we agreed on?”

What they agreed on was adding a new spin to his predictable schedule. They’ve been at this for weeks. He knows he’ll be kicking himself later but Dazai tells the truth. 

“A T.A. asked me to help tutor someone.” 

As expected Oda raises an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“I told him to ask me again next week.”

“Dazai.” That admonishing tone again. 

“Oda,” he says in the same way. 

“I want you to give it a try,” he says, placing his tablet on the low table between them. “And next week when we see each other again you can tell me how it went.” 

They don’t have enough time left to argue about it, so Dazai agrees and then he’s on his way. 

Once out in the street he’s presented with a sunny day and nothing to do. With so much potential it seems criminal to go back to bed and sleep the day away. The air is pleasantly cool and the sun warm against his skin. He walks past his apartment, looking for something to occupy part of his morning. It’s only ten. 

The answer to his problem is a small store he’s passed many times on his way to class. A little shop with a purple sign and a lot of frisky lingerie on display. He walks inside, the heating swaying his body heat towards ‘let’s sweat through our clothes’ territory. The light jacket he has on goes over an arm while he browses. In glass cases is, and he’s not being hyperbolic here, a monster cock. Possibly the size of his thigh and then some, it’s pink at the bottom and black on top. Right next door is another dildo of the same height but shaped like a tentacle. He has to wonder about the type of adventurous person ballsy enough to brave uncharted territory. He’s not so sure humans were ever meant to experiment with… this. 

It’s a nice store. There’s quiet background music, the displays are neat and sectioned off. The vibrators on one side, the fleshlights on the other and the BDSM gear in the back. He goes straight for the back, assessing what they’ve got in stock. There’s a whip, a body harness, a dog collar with its leash. And in the middle, what he has been looking for. The rope. 

A flick of his hand and he’s politely flagging down the cashier. 

“Hi, you got any other type of rope?” The one he’s looking at appears a bit too rough for beginners. 

The guy nods. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get it from the back.” 

Dazai is left alone. And gets the most hilarious idea. 

From his pants pocket he takes out his phone, taking a few pictures and sending them quickly afterwards. 

A notification arrives seconds later. 

>is this what you do on a saturday morning?<

Chuuya types for a few seconds and sends a second text: 

>shop for sex toys?<

Dazai grins down at his phone. Then sends another picture, this time of a human-looking dildo that’s big enough to pass as part of someone’s leg. 

>this is a one time only thing<

The Staff Only door swings open and the cashier comes in with two plastic bags. One has red rope, velvety soft. The other one is pink, a little rougher but made for comfort. He asks the cashier to hold the two up and takes a picture. Sending them off with the caption: 

>which will it be<

Chuuya responds quickly. 

>i want to try the soft one first<

Dazai smiles at the cashier. “The missus has chosen the red one, thanks.” 

They go back to the front to pay. While the guy rings him up Dazai looks down at his phone to answer but finds a second text from Chuuya. 

>the red one if that wasn’t clear<

He responds: 

>it was<

>buying it<

While the guy swipes his card for him Dazai looks down to find another text.

>when are we gonna try it out?<

He smiles. 

>when are you free?<

Chuuya:

>tomorrow morning and afternoon<

The guy gives him a very discreet brown bag with his purchase. Dazai nods his thanks while replying. 

>then there we go<

Before he leaves his eye catches something. By the register are last minute panic-buys. Glow in the dark condoms, lube that has a cold effect and one that feels hot. And in the middle, in a pink box, sex pills. 

Huh. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Dazai has been trying to finish for the last forty minutes now. He's maybe starting to lose hope. After coming home Dazai went straight to his room and popped a sex pill. The box said something about warnings and heart burn, and then promised effects in five minutes. Dazai has been sitting here with his dick, literally, in his hand for fifteen. 

It’s not a secret that antidepressants are the natural enemy of success. Anything that goes against one’s ability to get hard should be banned by the FDA. As it stands, Dazai is a risk to himself and others if left unmedicated and, begrudgingly, his life has seen an improvement since he started this new drug. He can still be a huge whiny asshole and complain about not getting off though. That's his god given right at this point. 

It’s times like these that he wishes he’d just die. Dramatic to the outside observer, but Dazai gets like this every time something goes wrong. Oda says it’s a bad habit. Dazai has lived too long like this to be any other way. Whenever anything goes the wrong way he’s reminded that life is like this regardless of his sensibilities, and will continue being like this despite his wishes. It makes it hard to want to live when eternity expands so miserably before him. 

He gives up a minute before twenty, shrugging on his pants and consoling himself with eating his brother’s dessert. As revenge for being able to have Chuuya’s time so often without having to jump through hoops. 

(There he goes being petty.)

On his way to the kitchen he decides to shoot Chuuya a text. Dazai's last message to him, which was sent this morning, hasn’t been read yet. He is a little put off by this. 

The moment Dazai presses send, a call vibrates in his hand.

He answers too quickly. 

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because your texts are concerning,” Chuuya says matter-of-factly. 

“What? What did I say?”

Chuuya recites in a needlessly high-pitched voice, “‘Do you think that if I inject lighter fluid in my eyes I'll be able to shoot lasers out of my eyes? Asking for a friend.’”

“That's funny though. Also I sent that hours ago, it doesn't count anymore.” The kitchen is blessedly empty. The fridge is also fully stocked. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all. He takes out Ryuu’s pudding cup and steals a spoon, taking both to his room again. 

“You should be admitted into a mental institute.”

“Joke’s on you, I was already admitted.”

“That's not the burn you think it is.”

The door to his room is swung shut by his heel. “Doesn't matter. I'm too young to be speaking on the phone and I gotta shower. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Chuya shouts. Dazai brings his phone back to his ear. “Take me with you.”

Slowly. “You want me to take my phone… into the shower?”

“Yeah.”

Dazai looks down at the screen, sees the minutes of the call ticking upwards, and brings it back to his ear. “You’ve got the weirdest kinks.”

Chuuya groans in his ear. The sound is reminiscent of their strict hourly rendezvous. It sends a shiver down his spine and it’s suddenly not that hard to imagine getting hard. “It’s not a kink!”

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on. I’m gonna put some tape on my camera lens.” His towel and clothes are already in the bathroom. He’d been originally planning to get off and then take a shower. That hadn’t gone according to plan, however, so now he’ll just have to take a shower. The tape he keeps is hidden under a stack of folders on his desk. A small piece of paper is put on top of the camera, underneath the tape. 

“Uh, I’m not gonna video call you,” Chuuya says from the speaker. 

“It’s not about that. I just feel uncomfortable with a camera faced my way while I’m naked. Better safe than sorry.”

“Paranoid.”

“With good reason,” he defends. “So is that really paranoid?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Lemme school you, shorty.” He goes to the bathroom and undresses as he goes. “Paranoid means ‘unreasonably anxious’ implying that there isn't a good reason to feel like that. I, however, have good reason to be anxious, hence: I’m not paranoid.” By his feet he drops the pile of clothes, Dazai takes his phone into the shower, propping it on the soap holder. 

“Distrustful then,” Chuuya allows. 

“Hmm, good boy.”

Dazai is fiddling with the water pressure and temperature so he’s a bit too distracted to notice Chuuya has fallen silent. It’s not until a mumbled, “Shut up,” is voiced through the speaker that he takes note. 

“Oh-ho-ho!" he says obnoxiously. “Did I stumble across another kink of yours? Hot.” 

“Taking your phone to the shower isn’t a kink of mine!”

“Ah, but what about the second thing?”

Another lengthy silence. 

“No comment.”

“Noted.” He turns on the shower, a warm stream drenches his hair to his face and travels down his back. He attempts to keep his phone from the splash zone, and he succeeds somewhat. The screen is definitely wet by the time he’s done, but it’s not a concerning amount. The white towel around his waist is used to dry it. He takes Chuuya to his room, along with the clothes he picked out. 

His phone bounces on the bed after throwing it. 

“What do you have planned for your saturday?” Chuuya asks innocently. 

And Dazai is now faced with a dilemma. The truth is he’s got nothing. Aside from his own damn therapist and his family, he has no other relationships. Classmates don’t count of course, and high school friends have drifted away, on to better things. Afternoons and nights spent out doing god knows what are past him. At twenty-three, Dazai feels past his prime. 

He lies. “Out with friends. What about you?”

Is there anything more pathetic than pretending to have plans? He doesn’t think so. 

“Same here,” he says. “We’re going bar-hopping and then we’ll probably crash back at the house.” 

The house, Dazai reminds himself, is Chuuya’s place he visited one time while getting his coat back. 

They lapse in silence while he redresses. Chuuya must take it some type of way because he’s doing the worst thing possible. 

“If you want, do you wanna come with your friends? We wouldn’t mind.”

He’s extending an invitation. 

Oda would say this is the perfect opportunity to expand his horizons, open up his rigid schedule and try something new. But the thought of going out ‘bar-hopping’ with people he doesn’t know is exhausting and very anxiety-inducing. On paper it’d be a perfect opportunity. But since he has lied about having friends, this would only work to expose him. 

“Nah. Thank you though.” In clean clothes, with wet hair, Dazai throws himself back first on his bed. The phone bounces a bit. “Hey, what time should we meet tomorrow?” 

Subtle change in topic, he says to himself sarcastically. 

“Does midday work for you?” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Not like he has anything else to do with his life. 

“Cool.” Somebody from Chuuya’s end calls out to him. “Oh, hey, I have to go. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Yeah, bye.” 

“Bye.”

The call ends. Dazai is left staring at his ceiling. 

This is going to be a long day. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sunday’s midday could not come fast enough. He’d spent the entirety of yesterday killing time on his phone and resisting the urge to cut into his leg but he’s finally here, waiting inside their preferred room, now staring at the ceiling with the mirrors. On the floor and leaning against the bed is his backpack. The brown bag with his purchase is by the bedside table, sitting innocent alongside the sex pills. A water bottle is opened as well. He figures maybe it’s him that’s the problem. Him and his sucky, medicated body that doesn't work right. Maybe Chuuya will get a kick out of them. 

Somebody should, he thinks bitterly. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late! But I’m here!” Chuuya barrels in like a tiny hurricane. His wallet bounces on the bed alongside his phone. The door is not even shut all the way and Chuuya is already shrugging off his boxers. The clothes he’d been wearing are a messy heap on the floor. Dazai has just enough time to sit up before he has a lap-full of Chuuya. 

“Hi,” Chuuya says happily, all up in his face.

Dazai smiles despite himself. “Hello.” 

“You got the stuff?”

“God, you make me sound like an eighties drug dealer,” he says playfully, leaning across the bed to grab the bag. He passes it on to Chuuya to inspect. The plastic is ripped in half, no second look given to the zipped opening. The rope falls between them. Slim fingers run alongside the velvet material that covers the rope. Dazai splays his hands over Chuuya’s thighs, decorated by stretchmarks and nothing more. Smooth to the touch and very firm. 

“There’s something more,” he points out. “In the bag.” 

“Oh.” Chuuya upends the bag and out falls the box of sex pills. Chuuya shoots him a curious glance. “Oh?”

“Thought you’d like to give it a try,” he explains. 

“Looks sketchy.”

“Scared?” Dazai teases. “Didn’t know Chuuya was a chicken.”

Chuuya is reading through the pamphlet. “It says I could experience vicious diarrhea.”

“That’s a suggestion.”

“It’s really not.” He continues reading. “Headaches, amnesia. Excuse me, death?!”

“Let me look at this.” He steals back the pamphlet. “Don’t be dramatic, it says it could lead to death if you don’t go to the hospital after experiencing the other symptoms. Anyway, I took them and I’m still here.”

“You took them?” Chuuya asks incredulously. 

“Yesterday,” he says. “No effect.” 

“Huh.” Chuuya throws the paper to the side and shakes out the strip of pills. A medium sized pink pill is popped out. “You got any water?” he asks. 

Dazai gestures to the water bottle on the bedside table with his head. Chuuya gently places the pill on his tongue and swallows a gulp of water. He swallows and makes a face. “Disgusting,” he groans at the aftertaste. 

“Yeah, I know. It goes away.” 

“How long until it kicks in?” 

“Let’s find out.” Dazai rolls them over, with Chuuya on his back and him hovering on top. He grins and dives in for innocent kisses along his sharp jaw. He pauses at his ear and drags his teeth against his earlobe lightly, racking up shivers and a twitch of Chuuya’s shoulders. Chuuya’s hands come up to grip his neck, he angles his head to the side for more access. 

He noses along Chuuya’s throat, biting down lightly on the slope of his shoulder. The ticklish sensation makes Chuuya try to shy away, but Dazai brings a hand to keep him still. 

Legs are forcibly bracketed around his hips, bringing Dazai closer. He presses his weight into his forearms, leaving a bit of space between them. 

“How do you wanna start?” 

“Tie up my hands.” 

Dazai looked up all types of knots before coming here, he committed them to memory even. He didn’t get very far in his developing repertoire, not to the full body ones anyway. The arm and hand knots are easy enough. The rope slips smoothly through his fingers while he measures out. 

“In front of you, or behind your back.” 

Chuuya thinks on this, looking down at the rope. His hair is fanned out on the white pillow like this. Dazai has the very stupid urge to kiss his forehead. Jesus. 

“Front,” he says. “Let’s try missionary.” 

“Whatever Chuuya wants,” he says and gets to work. It’s not a quick job, Dazai is too careful for that, which means that the prolonged wait allows time for the tension to build. Chuuya is breathing heavily while he watches, propped up on his forearms. His thighs twitch by his hips, he’s still hard. Dazai moves closer so they’re flush together. Having something to rut up against occupies Chuuya while Dazai works. The red rope is twisted smoothly, winding around Chuuya’s arm and slipping like water. The red looks delicious on pale skin. 

In the end they’re left with a lot of extra rope that goes off to the side but the bottom line is that Chuuya’s forearms are tightly wound and pressed together, halfway crossed over his chest. His legs are still hanging from Dazai’s hips, and without needing to use his hands Chuuya rocks him forward with a little nudge on the small of Dazai’s back. 

“You gonna stare the entire time?” Chuuya asks. 

Dazai comes across a little dilemma here too. 

The bandages. Last time, stupidly and without thinking, he’d exposed himself. Chuuya didn’t seem to mind them in the way Dazai thought he would. Mostly he’d been concerned. Not disgusted. Dazai debates for a single second, and it’s enough to get Chuuya’s concern spiking. 

“You okay?”

“...yeah,” he says absently. Fuck it. Chuuya has prevented him from cutting twice now, the least Dazai deserves is a little recognition. He begins by unwinding the bandages around his arms, those are the easiest to undo and the closest to him right now. 

It’s a relief to let his skin breathe for once. With how hot he’s getting, the bandages had begun chafe. He lets them spool by his side, then goes for the other arm. Chuuya watches this happen, eyes not-so-subtly raking across the white lines and the healing red ones criss-crossing his arms. 

Chuuya is visibly pleased to see that no more scars have joined the ones he had seen the last time. Weirdly perceptive of Chuuya, as always, Dazai smiles, a little teasing even when genuine. “Do I get a star for a job well done?” 

“You’ll get a reward, alright. Come’ere already.”

Foreplay is a little something Dazai secretly enjoys too much. He knows that for some people it takes a bit to get them going, and for others it doesn’t take much at all. Whichever type of person he has the pleasure of fooling around with, Dazai always finds enjoyment in seeing his sexual partners react to him. The barest touch on one’s side and goosebumps break across their skin. A tiny breath behind their ear and they’re a shivery mess. A few choice words and they’re wet already. 

For Chuuya, as always, he pulls out all the stops. 

And Chuuya, as always, reacts beautifully. 

The light touches, short nails, non-calloused hands, roam the firm skin of Chuuya’s stomach, starting from his abdomen, low by his hips, and up to his chest. Lightly, barely touching, Dazai rubs his nipples with the pad of his thumb. And Chuuya squirms unabashedly. 

“Dazai…”

The heat starts on the back of his neck, Dazai feels it with the sweat that builds. It goes down his back. It warms his ears, then his cheeks. Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hide his face behind his hands. But he can’t because they’re tied together. He groans openly, shooting Dazai a wounded look. “Get on with it.” 

To be left defenseless has apparently forced Chuuya into being defensive. He’s clearly embarrassed, though there’s no reason to be. He’s out of breath, hot to the touch. His legs twitch around him. 

Dazai shrugs with a smile. His hands go down the sides, eliciting more precious reactions he memorizes. He leans down to kiss under Chuuya’s jaw, leaving wet patches that he blows air on. Chuuya tries to curl up, but all he can achieve is the tightening of his legs and the slight shift of his bound arms. Nails rake down the length of those thighs he covets so much, then travel up until they cup Chuuya’s face, pressing wet, light kisses along his jaw. 

Without warning and with a sleight of hand, Dazai mercilessly squirts lube all over Chuuya’s stomach, cold enough to make him jump. 

“F-fuck!” 

Dazai swipes a sizable amount in his hand, tracing it down to between his legs. Skin slick with sweat, Dazai’s mouth waters. He wants to taste all of it, every single bit. Chuuya opens up beautifully under him. Sinfully tight around a finger, and then two. The wet heat curls around his fingers, a soft, smooth glide. They go in and out mechanically, paying no heed to Chuuya’s pained whines of, ‘More dammit!’

He doesn’t listen to it. Dazai keeps to his own leisure pace. He’s enjoying this more than he thought he would. He’s still not feeling that characteristic light-headedness that comes with full on arousal. It’s only the fledgling start of one, the tingle that starts at the base of his spine, but not the full, real deal. He’s not too disappointed, not when Chuuya is here looking like a wet dream. A writhing, panting spectacle. If they had more time Dazai would love to tease him until he cries. Bring him to the edge of an orgasm and let him dangle without a conclusive end. How many times before he starts begging? How many before he’s crying openly and without shame? How many until Dazai loses his mind gives in. He needs to know this, but he also knows an hour will never be enough for his ambitious dreams. He’d need at least two, maybe more. Definitely more for aftercare and the proportional pampering Chuuya would be due. He’d love to pamper Chuuya, anything he wants. There’s something so pleasing about seeing Chuuya happy. He does it so easy, being happy that is. He reacts like he isn’t scared of giving everything away. He gets angry and annoyed and lets people know. He gets embarrassed and shies away, despite knowing Dazai will just tease him for it. Dazai realizes with a start that his chest has been set alight, a fire right in his sternum. Would you look at that, he’s breathing heavily now too.

Dazai hadn’t noticed he was lost in thought until Chuuya uses the heel of his foot to kick him in the back. He comes back to himself, looking at Chuuya’s face instead of between his legs where he’s still going at it automatically. 

Chuuya’s eyes are teary, desperately looking for mercy. He’s heaving, shaking. His shoulders hitch against his will. “S-stop it-t, I cah- can’t ‘nymore-!” His words are breathless, quiet. Dazai realizes now that his fingers had been savagely prodding at his prostate for a fair amount of time now. Without a break, and without stopping. He stills his hands and the slight arch of Chuuya’s back relaxes into the mattress. Dazai hadn’t realized he was so tense, not until his muscles unlock and he’s a heap on the mattress. He pants, arms shaking and fists clenched tight. 

The lube spread across his stomach, Dazai wets his fingers with it again. A condom is rolled down and then his length is coated with a layer of cold lube, he jumps a bit. Jesus, it’s freezing. Chuuya doesn’t snark at him for getting a taste of his own medicine, he’s breathing heavily still. Blue eyes are glued to the ceiling, cloudy. The sweat on his brow rolls down the side of his head. 

Before daring to proceed, Dazai takes a moment to really look at him. “You’re sweating a lot, are you okay?”

Chuuya nods shakily. “K-keep going.”

“Okay.”

This is his favorite part, he has to admit. The part where he first breaches past and slides in and they both expel a breathy sigh of contentment. Fingers are often enough to ease the glide, but they’re often not the exact width of someone’s dick. Dazai’s prep has gotten them halfway home, the rest is up to his patience and practice. Chuuya’s legs fall wide, Dazai leans in, hooking one of his legs over his shoulder and their chests together. 

“A-ah! D-Daz-ai!” Chuuya’s eyes are halfway closed. 

Only the tip is in. He goes in slowly, bullying his way inside until there’s no space between them. His moan is muffled through closed lips. It feels godly every time they do this. The softness surrounding him, pulsating and sending his mind into orbit. It’s so fucking good. Chuuya contracts around him erratically. It punches the air out of his lungs. 

Dazai goes to press their foreheads together to take a small breather, seeing as Chuuya hasn’t given him the all clear to move yet and he’s a light wind away from blowing his load prematurely. What he finds upon making contact with Chuuya is something that raises a bit of concern. 

He draws back. “Chuuya, your face is really hot.” 

It takes Chuuya a few seconds to blink into awareness. His head cocks to the side. “Huh?” Breathless again. He shivers again. 

Okay, now that he knows where to look it’s becoming obvious. Something isn’t right. Chuuya is sweating a lot. Like, a concerning amount. His face is hot now but insanely pale. He hasn’t stopped shaking since they started. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“D-don’ stop…” Chuuya says breathlessly. “Pleasee…” 

“Chuuya, I don’t think this is supposed to happen.”

If before he’d been concerned, this new response sends him into a blind panic. 

“I’m’kay…” Chuuya mumbles. “F’ls good…”

“Okay, I'm taking you to the hospital.” Dazai carefully pulls out, feeling a little bad from Chuuya’s broken whimper.  It’s for his own good, he reasons. “Up we go,” he says, pulling Chuuya’s bound arms around his neck and sitting them up. Chuuya’s back is propped against the headboard. His head lolls to the side. “Good,” Dazai says softly. He scoots to the side of the bed. “Stay here, okay? Good, great.” Chuuya doesn’t appear all that responsive, the most he manages on his own is bringing his legs up to his chest and hugging them with bound arms. Dazai slides off the bed to grab their clothes by the handful. Dazai settles back on the bed as quickly as he can, the pile of clothes set to the side. He half-kneels with Chuuya’s shirt bunched up in his lap. The rope is easily untied because Dazai knows what he’s doing, his shaking fingers do, however, strain his progress a bit. 

The rope makes a thump on the floor. Dazai doesn’t give it a glance. “Okay, here.” He rubs hands up and down Chuuya’s arms. “Can you keep your arms up so I can put your shirt on?” 

“Mmmmnooo…” He droops to the side. 

“Okay, okay. That’s okay.” Dazai catches him with hands on his face. The thumbs gently caress the alarmingly pale cheeks. He swings Chuuya his way, so his shoulder is now resting against Dazai’s chest and his face is buried in his neck. He angles Chuuya so he can somewhat look at Dazai. The alarm spikes when he finds that Chuuya’s eyes are closed. “Hey, look at me. You’re okay, lean against me. I’ll dress you, don’t worry.”

He tries to pull on the shirt, he really does but it’s very hard with dead weight. Chuuya is mumbling a little to himself but doesn’t speak. The sweating is getting ridiculous, Dazai can feel it wetting his skin. He gives up on the shirt and instead puts Chuuya in pants. 

It’s a little chilly out today, it’s still early enough that the sun isn’t in their favor. Overcast climate isn't doing them any favors. With his pants on Dazai lays Chuuya down again. He quickly stuffs Chuuya’s clothes and shoes into his backpack, the rope, the pills. He throws away the condom and hops into his own pants and sweatshirt. 

Chuuya whimpers, staring blearily at him while on his side. He’s shivering so much now. 

His stomach takes a swan dive. 

“Jesus, okay. I’m sorry, Chuuya.” He goes back into Chuuya’s space, coat in hand. “Here, this will have to do.” His coat is placed around trembling shoulders, arms led through the sleeves. It’s big enough that it’s not terribly hard to maneuver Chuuya into it. The sleeves go beyond Chuuya’s hands and the hem reaches past his hips, just shy of touching mid-thigh. 

One strap of the backpack is swung on Dazai's back, then it’s Chuuya’s turn. An arm under his knees and another behind his back, Dazai heaves him up. Chuuya’s head slumps against his shoulder. He’s not making any sounds. 

Dazai rushes out of the room with Chuuya in his arms. The girl up front calls after him. 

The street is busy, Dazai spots a taxi heading their way. He whistles loudly to get the attention of the driver. It screeches to a stop in front of him. “Nearest hospital,” he says sternly once they’re inside, Chuuya snug in his lap. From his backpack the water bottle is a godsend. Before running out Dazai had the foresight to grab it. 

Chuuya is conscious, thank god. Only too tired to keep moving or speaking. Dazai helps him take small sips of water on the way to the hospital. Chuuya shivers out of nowhere. Dazai closes the coat tight around his chest, hugging him close, a hand rubbing his back soothingly. 

“‘zai… 's c’ld.”

“I know,” he murmurs in his ear. Chuuya’s head is pressed under his jaw. “It’s okay, we’re almost there, okay? Don’t worry.” 

The taxi stops in front of the hospital five minutes later. 

Chuuya is not conscious anymore. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Bleary, blue eyes open and take in the hospital room. Chuuya turns his head to the side. He finds Dazai, who has been watching him try to wake up for a while now. 

“…oh…hello…” Chuuya mumbles. 

Dazai half-smiles. “Hi.”

“You’re still here…?”

Ridiculous question. The nurses tried to chase him off but he fought them until they gave up. “Of course. I sent you here, I might as well stick around, right?”

Chuuya squints at him, burrowing under the thin blanket. He’s wearing a shirt now. Dazai managed to convince one of the nurses to help him dress Chuuya. “You have that face again,” he says quietly. 

“Which one.”

“Gonna cry.” He frowns. “Don’t cry.”

Dazai shakes his head. “I don’t cry. 

With a big sigh, Chuuya rolls on his back. “’s not your fault.”

Ah, he begs to disagree. 

“It is though,” Dazai says. “I kinda pressured you into taking those damn pills.” He’d shown the doctors what Chuuya had taken and they looked at him with varying degrees of incredulity and what he’s pretty sure was full-on disgust. As in, ‘how could you be this fucking stupid?’ 

“No, you didn’t,” Chuuya says quietly. It’s really silent now, which is a big difference to when he came running in. A lot of yelling, from the doctors and him. “...was my decision in the end.”

Dazai knows that Chuuya is a grown man. He has taken care of himself, years before Dazai even knew of his existence. There’s no good reason to think he’d be in need of ‘protection.’ Doesn’t change the fact that Dazai needs to give it and feels like death if he doesn’t. 

“Don’t cry…”

Dazai laughs a little. “I’m not.”

From underneath the blanket comes his hand, Dazai takes it. He massages the knuckles to have something to focus on. As much a comfort for Chuuya, as for him. 

“You don’t believe me,” Chuuya says. He turns his head to the side. “Wasn’t your fault.” Sternly, he says, “I was teasing you about the symptoms. I wanted to take ‘em from the start. The pills. I just wanted to make a joke about the warnings. Who the hell puts death as a symptom anyway?”

“A business that doesn’t want to get sued, I wager.”

“They ripped you off, Dazai,” Chuuya says playfully. “Ripped. Off.”

“No shit,” he chuckles. “I took ‘em, and nothing.” 

Chuuya frowns again. “How did you not die like me?”

“You didn’t die, Chuuya. You got really dehydrated really fast.” He points at the IV drip attached to his other hand. They’d explained it all to him. The damn pills did their job, in a way. Chuuya felt its effects. The problem was, it also sent him into a raging fever. Add in all the sweating from their.. ‘exercise’, and it all ended with Chuuya dehydrated and weak. “You’ll be good as new in no time.” 

“I’m really tired,” he mumbles. “Gonna sleep a bit. Don’t cry, ‘kay?” 

Dazai smiles a little. Loopy-Chuuya is very funny. “Sleep. I’ll be here.” 

“Don’t let go,” he says, giving their joined hands a little squeeze. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He squeezes back. “Sleep.”

Chuuya is knocked out in seconds, Dazai’s smile slips from his face like water. 

Wow, look at him go. Dazai really can’t do anything right, can he? What a mess he has made. What the hell was he thinking with those fucking pills? Stupid, he thinks to himself. You’re so fucking stupid. 

Not for the first time, nor the last, he thinks, ‘Everyone would be better off with me dead.’

Chuuya’s hand twitches in his sleep. He mumbles a little and pulls Dazai’s hand close to his chest, hugging it. Dazai has to scoot closer with his chair and even then he has to lean in a bit. Chuuya doesn’t care, sleeping soundly and hugging his arm tight. 

Chapter Text

Today isn't bad; it's not a bad day. It's just a day and that's part of the problem, isn't it? It's always a day, a good day, a bad day and just a day, it never sticks to one and it always changes and the only constant in life is that there is no such thing.

The fact that it's just a day doesn't quell the nausea swirling in his stomach at Oda's words.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Oda looks at him patiently and doesn't repeat himself, because he knows full well that Dazai has heard him.

"A pet," Dazai repeats flatly.

"Yes," Oda responds. "A pet."

Dazai doesn't need to point out why that would be a horrible idea on paper and even more disastrous in practice. More often than not he's passively searching for a way to kick the bucket. He takes shit care of himself on a good day and his moods are so unpredictable, an innocent whatever-the-hell would inevitably fall under collateral damage.

"I think it will do you good. How do you feel about dogs? A cat maybe, although cats tend to take care of themselves."

It dawns on him too slowly that Oda is looking purposely for something helpless that will depend on him for everything, as opposed to a furry companion that will keep him company.

"I don't like either one."

"A rabbit then, or a hamster. They're smaller."

"No, I don't like animals period," he says with a bit more bite than he'd usually throw Oda's way.

It's warranted, he thinks. Dazai has had exactly one pet in his entire life. A little puppy, a gift from years ago when his family was whole. His parents got him a little dog as a result of his tireless begging. Little-Dazai had seen in TV and in his classmates that a pet was the pinnacle of happiness. If he got one then surely life would surge with color and everything would smell of candy and frosting. He got his pet, a white dog that fit in his arms perfectly. The puppy had a little doggy bed, a doggy bowl and even a collar that displayed his undignified name.

Dazai did what he was supposed to do, as any good owner. Admittedly, those first few months took him on a rollercoaster-worthy of a learning curve. Steep and scary. He had to remember to feed it and clean after it and play with it. That last one wasn't that bad, considering, but still, it was another thing on his plate and at eight years of age, anything that went on top of school and homework and extracurriculars, was a thing to complain about.

Anyways, Dazai and his pet were a team for about six months before shit hit the fan with his parents and they split up. Dazai obviously chose to stay with his mom, despite the small apartment they'd have to move into and the change of schools. The downside with sticking with the one parent that seemed to like him was that there were no pets allowed where they would be moving into. Dazai didn't make a fuss over it, knowing full well how his mom was already so stressed.

His bathroom and hers shared a wall back then. Sounds carried easily like that, especially in the dead of night after a fight. That little detail is also the reason he wasn't surprised when his parents split up. Screaming matches served as better white noise than the fan or air conditioner did.

Anyways, the dog went to a relative out in the suburbs and Dazai moved in with his mom. He has seen his dog about four times after that and with each visit Dazai got demoted further down the dog's priority list of preferred people until he was nothing more than a guest that would come and play and leave. He wasn't overly sad about it. After all, the dog was with him for just half a year.

He doesn't remember caring about it like in the movies or like how his classmates did, and that's where his concern stems from. Who can say if he'll be as apathetic with this new pet and accidentally kill it due to negligence. Dazai wonders what his reaction will be and then decides he doesn't want to know.

"I don't want a pet," he says with finality.

Oda frowns the tiniest bit, the peak of his outward displeasure.

Dazai checks out for the rest of the session, nodding along and saying yes whenever it’s warranted. He has no idea if Oda notices and is choosing to cut him some slack, or if Dazai is just that good at pretending he’s listening.

For the rest of the hour Dazai bypasses OdaSaku's dark eyes to stare at the bookshelf behind him. It’s full of thick, old university level books with dark colored covers.

He used to read avidly as a kid. He’d read and write to his heart’s content, unconcerned with his lackluster grammar. His mom liked the mother’s day letters he'd make her and the little notes he’d write for her on her birthday.

The calendar on the side of Oda's desk has crossed out the first three weeks of February and his stomach clenches painfully at the sight of how close her birthday is already.

March twentieth.

If she were around to celebrate it, they'd be celebrating on a Saturday.

He hates to think about it, and he hates that he hates it. Most of all he hates that it’s inescapable. Her birthday falls on the first day of spring, coincidentally enough. Impossible to miss when the end of winter and daylight savings is consistently thrown in his face every year. She used to like that about her birthday, that people would unknowingly be celebrating her.

March twentieth was a day that people knew and a date that people put importance into. That they should be happy for the wrong reason, that they’re so pleased when he’s so miserable—It really fucking hurts.

Ah, he digresses.

Books, reading. He hasn’t touched a single book in years. The last one he ever held in his hands was a small version of 1984 his mom left for him before she died. He can’t stand to look at it, let alone read it. The pain that starts in his stomach and ties a knot in his throat is beyond what he can handle.

The book currently sits pristine and untouched inside a drawer in his desk. He knows there’s a little note she left on the first page because the first time he got it he leafed through it. He never got around to reading it, slamming it shut before the words could fully register. Mori looked at him like he was crazy and didn’t say anything when Dazai said his thanks for delivering it.

After the divorce and before Mori, when he and his mom moved out, there was a short period of adjustment. There were a few issues with the transfer to his new school so for about a month Dazai had nowhere to go during the day. His mom had to take him to her university where she taught advanced English as a second language. Dazai was often shooed into a little corner desk but his PSP couldn’t keep his attention quite as well as his mom’s confident, enthusiastic voice echoing in the hall.

Without a microphone and with sheer passion she managed to enrapture any person paying attention, and even those who didn’t. Her advanced classes didn’t delve into grammar anymore, but focused on high level reading comprehension that incited heated debates in her classroom. On their way home on the bus Dazai often talked her ear off about what he learned in her class. He’d always been proficient in English because she always took the time to speak to him in her second language.

Once, on the way back home, he asked her what her favorite book was and she said 1984.

"It was the first book in English I read completely and without help," she explained, watching him walk circles around her.

Dazai had already turned nine then, but he was still relatively small for his age, barely eye level with her waist. Though to be fair, his mom was a tall woman.

"Can I read it?" he asked, going in circles, his little hand in hers, switching hands when they couldn't reach anymore.

When she laughed it always sounded like a scoff. It often put people off. "I don’t know how much you’re going to understand."

"I’ll understand," he responded with the confidence of a little kid that didn't get the limits of a still developing brain.

"Sure," she said eventually, after thinking about it. "I think I have my old copy somewhere around the house."

Before bedtime she rummaged around the unopened boxes littered around their new apartment and got her book. Dazai was already in bed by the time she found it and he peered at the folded edges, the filled margins full of pencil annotations.

Meanwhile, his mom got comfortable on the bed by his side. She took the book, rested the spine between her raised knees and began to read. Dazai stopped her from time to time with things he didn’t understand—how would a fourth grader know what an ulcer was?—and she did her best to dumb it down for him. He sometimes fell asleep halfway through and they'd have to figure out where they left off the next day, with Dazai only half remembering the details around the time he nodded off. They went through one chapter per night and got done with the entire book by the time Dazai had to go to his new school.

They never stopped their nightly ritual, reading before bed countless classics she liked and a few he decided to try out. For years that was the routine.

Mori came into the picture somewhere around his mid-teens and unfortunately Dazai grew too old to be read bedtime stories. Too soon he was an adult, his mom was dead, and he was living with his step-dad. And now it’s the eve of spring and Dazai is alone, miserable and exhausted.

Dazai occupies the rest of the time he's got with Oda by wading through all those unwanted memories.

Perfect memory.

What a boon.

When they're finally done he lazily waves goodbye to Oda and then to the receptionist. After that it’s an entire Saturday looking at him in the face. Chuuya was out partying with his friends the night before which means Dazai won't be hearing from that shorty until noon. He goes to his apartment with the knowledge that he'll definitely go to bed and not come out until tomorrow.

Whatever, he doesn’t have the energy to care.

He goes home, and the apartment is quiet. Mori got back late yesterday, a late shift. His brother is god knows where and the maids don't come Saturdays. He's free to get himself a drink from the kitchen and trudge to his room. Without changing he throws himself on top of the messy covers. He closes his eyes to pass the time, and time, for whatever reason, decides to not move at all. He opens his eyes after an eternity and it's hardly been a minute. That fact kind of makes him want to scream.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and with graceless maneuvering Dazai gets it. The screen hurts his eyes, so he squints against it. Up at the top of his notifications is an unknown number.

>Have you thought about the tutoring yet? whats your answer?<

After a few seconds:

>it's ranpo by the way<

Oh yeah. That.

This last week Ranpo ended up finding him the second he stepped foot inside their class. Not a second passed and Ranpo was up in his face asking, "What'll it be?"

Dazai tried to come up with some excuse about not knowing yet and Ranpo kept being stubborn.

"Why are you so insistent with me? Don't say the recommendation, that won't work."

Ranpo shrugged. "You're the only one qualified enough to teach this kid. Everyone else is on the verge of failing and you're the only one with consistent grades. By your class notes I know you're smart enough to dumb down the material for someone that is having trouble."

For the class that he has with Ranpo, it's only once a week. Dazai knew that if he was careful, then he wouldn't have to see the guy any more that week, so he said, 'I'll think about it' and left it at that. He thought that was the end but apparently not, Ranpo is now blowing up his phone to get him to comply.

Oda would say to say yes, but Dazai can't truly commit to being this proactive. He groans into his sheets. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The urge to scream and punch something is so strong he almost gets to his feet and does just that but then he remembers the last time he lost it and the itching of that fucking cast comes to the forefront of his mind, uninvited. The urge subsides.

He doesn't respond to Ranpo, and he doesn't leave his room for the rest of the day. He doesn't eat dinner or drink anything or shower or whatever the fuck. Dazai wakes up the next day with no recollection of what he did yesterday.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Monday afternoon comes and the one that gets to the motel first is Dazai, as is the trend these days. It seems as if Chuuya has somehow gotten even busier than before, if that's even possible. To Dazai, it's like every time they talk on the phone Chuuya is either on his way somewhere, leaving some place or late to something. The reasons vary, obviously, but the bottom line is the same: Chuuya is busy.

This must be what an active social life looks like. 

Scary. 

When Chuuya does get to the motel, about fifteen minutes late, he slumps against the door after closing it, letting his backpack fall to the floor. He's got his usual getup going on, all punk rock singer, 'my suburban dad will hate you' type of fashion. It's already getting him going and Chuuya isn't even naked yet. 

There is one thing that's different to last time though. 

Dazai blinks at him from the bed. “Did you fly here? Why’s your hair all…” He chooses his words carefully. Eyeing the uncharacteristic messiness “Like that.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, combing his hair with his fingers. “I rode here.”

“On a rollercoaster?”

The backpack is kicked to the side as he undresses. “My bike, jackass.”

“No shit, you have a bike?”

Chuuya perks up. “Yeah, it’s this one here.” He's down to his boxers when he bends down to retrieve his phone from the front pocket of his backpack. He walks closer to show Dazai.

Dazai looks at the screen, then back at Chuuya. “Is your lock screen seriously a picture of your bike?” 

He honestly could not give two shits about bikes or anything that's got a motor but, begrudgingly, in his ignorant opinion, it looks like a nice ride. Very sleek and taken care of. 

“She’s my baby, what about it?” Chuuya asks defensively, snatching his phone back. 

“She?!” Dazai asks, delighted. 

“I didn’t come here to catch up.”

“Okay, sheesh. You try to get to know someone and they bite your head off," he says, dragging himself off the bed to sit on the edge.

“You’re insufferable," Chuuya says stepping between Dazai's knees.

“Big words from someone so little.”

“I will actually bite your head off.”

“And then what?”

“Ugh!”

Dazai lets his fingers skim the firm muscle of Chuuya's thighs, grazing gently with his nails.

"What are you in the mood for today?" Chuuya asks. 

Dazai thinks about it for a bit. He looks up. "I dunno. What does Chuuya want to do?"

Chuuya starts to say something but his words are interrupted by a loud stomach growl. They both blink down at his stomach and Chuuya's face flushes up to his ears.

"Was that your-?"

"No!"

"It was!" Dazai cackles so hard he falls backwards, bouncing on the bed.

Chuuya kicks him in the shin. "Stop it!"

"I'm sorry," he says unapologetically between giggles. "It's just-" He burst into laughter again.

Chuuya pounces on him, knees on either side of Dazai's hips, hands coming down next to his head. "Stop being an asshole!"

Through the mist in his eyes he sees Chuuya's pretty face all twisted up in embarrassed anger. Before Dazai can make a comment about it he gets repeatedly hit by a pillow while he laughs.

“Stop laughing!”

Dazai can’t stop, feeling his own stomach start to cramp. He manages to snatch the pillow away, throwing it off to the side when he has the chance. He sits up suddenly, nearly sending Chuuya to the floor, and hugs him tight, throwing them back on the bed with all his strength. Chuuya squawks like a bird and squirms around but Dazai’s very useless noodles arms don’t give.

“Let’s get something to eat.”

“I just got here, that’d be a waste of money.”

“We don’t have to leave this place,” he says with a light chuckle. Chuuya pinches him in the side for that. “We can have it delivered here.”

Chuuya squirms around some more, like a little worm, resting his chin on Dazai’s chest to stare up at him. “What the hell? We can do that?”

“Why not?” he asks. “Chuuya’s hungry anyway, so what does it matter. Besides, people have probably done despicable things here. I doubt they’ll care if we dirty their sheets with crumbs.”

“'Despicable,'” Chuuya repeats. “Who talks like that?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, craning his head around to look for his phone. He finds it on the edge of the bed, about to fall. He frees one arm to stretch and snatch it, bringing it back so they can both see his screen. Chuuya gets more comfortable, sliding off to the side, into the crook of his arm. Dazai swipes around for the app he’s looking for, scrolling down the many choices.

While he looks there’s a shift in the weight on top of him. It’s very gradual; Dazai hadn’t even noticed it at first. In the silence they’re sharing Chuuya loosens up in degrees, his body unwinding and melting slowly. By the time he finds a nice restaurant that won’t take a year to deliver Dazai’s got a very warm weighted blanket. 

He shows Chuuya his decision, receiving a light nod in response. Dazai smiles a little to himself, preening with a job well done.

He quickly places two orders, drinks and sides and pays for it with Mori’s card out of spite. When he’s done he looks down to find Chuuya with his eyes closed.

Oh. A chance.

Dazai takes that brief moment to look his fill without embarrassing himself.

Chuuya really is so handsome. His skin is somehow perfect and Dazai is reminded faintly of his own acne-filled high school years. He bets Chuuya didn’t have braces, the lucky asshole. His eyelashes are light colored, nearly invisible from afar. His jaw is defined but his cheeks are soft and malleable like dough. These past few weeks Dazai has learned to appreciate Chuuya’s body in every way possible. He could worship every limb for the rest of his life if given the chance. Now, with Chuuya breathing deep and with his eyes closed, still partially dressed, Dazai gets a new appreciation for his face, something he hasn’t done since they met.

“Dazai,” Chuuya says out of nowhere.

“Yeah?”

“Stop staring at me like a creep.”

Dazai scoffs in good humor. He brings his arms up to hug Chuuya. “It’s just that you’re like a tiny kitten when you’re asleep.”

Chuuya opens his eyes. “I’m not asleep, asshole.”

“Could have fooled me.” He grins. “Hey, speaking of sleeping kittens, wanna make out to pass the time? If you want, of course.”

Chuuya smiles crookedly. “If I want? You are so embarrassing.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a shut the fuck up.”

When Chuuya raises himself on his forearms Dazai’s poor heart goes into overdrive. The kisses are light at first, small pecks that don't satisfy his hunger. Then Chuuya licks into his mouth, both hands cradling his face, and it’s like fireworks going off. Dazai melts down into the mattress; hands palming up strong thighs and worming in under lose boxer shorts. Painted nails scrape the skin around his neck to grab the hair at his nape, clutching it and angling it where he wants. Dazai lets it happen, happy to follow Chuuya’s lead.

He breathes out into Chuuya’s mouth, eyes half lidded. Chuuya moves on to his cheeks, dropping tiny kisses under his eyes and on the verge of touching his ear. Dazai closes his eyes tight, craning his head back, hands gripping Chuuya’s legs. Chuuya follows after, using his teeth to nip the sensitive skin under his jaw. Dazai’s hands grip Chuuya’s waist roughly, bringing him closer. The slight intake of breath is the only indication Chuuya is even affected. He does it again just to test the waters.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish.”

He grins. “Who says I won’t finish?”

"I hate you."

They don't get much time to talk after that.

He makes a game out of it, it’s called, ‘make Chuuya do the most embarrassing noises possible without being kicked out of the bed.’

It goes like this:

At first they go through the motions of trying to exchange as much spit as possible, both of them trying in vain to steal the other’s air supply. Chuuya tries to manhandle him and Dazai lets him, his own hands wondering and dipping where they can— prodding, groping, handling.

The second he hears Chuuya try to, adorably, hold back?

Bingo.

At first it’s pushing up into the cradle of Chuuya’s hips, grinding up while pulling him down. That gets him the most delicious reaction, the little tick to his shoulders, his eyebrows scrunched together and eyes closed. Dazai keeps their pace nice and even, their pleasure at his own discretion. He makes it as filthy as he can, as reminiscent of actual fucking as they can get with clothes in the way. And Chuuya, god bless this perfect example of god’s favorite creation, just takes it like he was made for it.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, that low voice of his sounding like a wet dream come to life.

Dazai licks into the delicate hollow of his throat, using his teeth as a mild threat. He daydreams of leaving unavoidable bruises Chuuya won’t be able to hide. Hickeys he will feel every time he swallows. Dazai tugs at luscious, vibrant hair, nails digging into the scalp. Chuuya lets out a whiny approximation of his name.

“Nhg-! I ne-need more,” he complains. “Dazaai.”

“You can do it like this,” he says simply, though frankly it sounds more like an order. “Isn’t that right, Chuuya?”

“Mmm…”

“You can do it,” Dazai breathes into his ear. “Come on, you’re so good for me, you’ll be able to come just from fucking into my lap, right?”

“I dun-don’t-“

“Do it, Chuuya,” he orders outright.

Chuuya nods quickly, eyes unseeing. He hides his face away into the crux of Dazai’s neck and shoulder, whining and whimpering quietly. For Dazai though, it is loud and clear.

He could come from this alone, he really thinks he could. If he puts his mind to it, Dazai could at least make a good, valiant effort. Though, if he's being realistic, with antidepressants as this annoying mental block, it’s more like a pipe dream. At the very least he has a front row view to future masturbating material people would kill to have.

He’s so goddamned lucky.

Chuuya is going at it, trying his best to please himself, rutting into him in a breathless, teary daze. Dazai decides to cut him some slack by spitting saliva into his palm and sliding his hand underneath Chuuya’s boxers. Chuuya recoils as if he has been hit, sitting up with bunched up hands wrinkling Dazai’s shirt. His face is so red and sweaty. God, Dazai wants to lick him.

It’s practiced movements, flicking his wrist, pressing down on the head just like Chuuya likes it, gathering precome and slathering it around. He uses the inner part of his wrist to add to the sensations. Chuuya’s hands fist his shirt tightly, and his thighs are trying to squish him. Chuuya peels open his eyes to Dazai’s little grin.

“Careful, Chuuya. Wouldn’t want people to hear you, right?”

His hand instantly comes up to his mouth, biting into it. 

Dazai has no idea why Chuuya has this complex about being loud and heard. They’ve themselves heard more than enough from their room neighbors; he can’t imagine what makes Chuuya so self-conscious about being loud.

Chuuya is so preoccupied now with keeping his voice low, pressing the heel of his hand into his mouth, that he has no idea Dazai has something planned until it’s too late. Dazai steals the hand smothering those beautiful sounds from coming out, pulling it forward. In addition to that, because Chuuya is holding himself up on his knees and has virtually no balance, Dazai, who is on his back, barely has to buck his hips up for Chuuya to fall forward. With no hand to break the fall, he collapses on Dazai’s chest, pierced ear right next to his mouth. He bites down on Chuuya’s ear, letting his hot breath fog the skin.

Chuuya twitches, gasping out, “Ah, ah, ah!”

He shakes through his orgasm, fucking into Dazai’s hand. Dazai helps draw the sensation out as much as possible, letting the tips of his fingers fondle his balls. That clever little trick earns him another whimpered gasp. Chuuya stops trembling eventually, becoming melted wax on top of him. Dazai doesn’t come, but he hadn’t counted on it. He already knew today wouldn’t be a good day. He waits patiently for his boner to get the memo. Chuuya is too out of it to question it. 

For a long while they don't talk. Dazai pokes Chuuya in the back, getting only slightly distracted by his tattoo, extending and twisting with every deep breath Chuuya takes.

He clears his throat. "Are you- uh, are you good?”

“Shhhhhh.”

“Alright.”

In the afterglow Dazai kills time by counting the number of embarrassing sounds he drew out today, cataloging them based on potential.

Their perfect peace is shattered by the persistent buzzing of his phone. Dazai groans, pawing around for his phone.

“What,” he says when the call connects.

“Uh, I’m here with your order, sir.”

“Oh,” he says stupidly. “Right. Yeah, I’ll be out in a second.” The call ends.

Chuuya is laughing at him.

“Oh shut up.”

Chuuya rolls to the side to let him pass. It has been unanimously decided that Dazai will be the one to get the food, seeing as he’s the only one dressed. By then his dick has been downgraded to a half chub. He goes out with the key card, quickly finding the poor delivery guy waiting in the curb. The guy looks him up and down and grins.

“Did I interrupt or something?”

“Or something,” Dazai grunts and goes back to the room. Chuuya is has his shirt and underwear, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. It's so unbelievably endearing Dazai has to take a moment to catch his breath. 

For something that was delivered in only ten minutes the food they get is something out of an ad. His mouth is watering the second they get the styrofoam cover off. Chuuya digs in immediately, chomping down on his curry with plastic utensils. Dazai’s udon fills him up with warmth he has missed. While they eat Chuuya tells him of his latest roommate drama, starring—big fucking surprise— Shirase.

“Chuuya has awful taste in friends,” Dazai points out at one point, after Chuuya tells him of finding stray hairs in the sink after Shirase decided to shave in Chuuya’s bathroom.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya snaps, weirdly defensive. “What would you know?”

Harsh but true. “Fair enough," he says. Dazai does not have enough friends to have an opinion.

After an hour of coming in, the front desk calls them. By then they've already finished their food and disposed of the containers by throwing them in the bathroom trashcan. Chuuya is off in the bathroom washing out his mouth so Dazai saves time by gathering their things into a pile. Chuuya comes back and instantly goes to get dressed.

Something occurs to Dazai then. "Hey…did you talk to a guy named Ranpo about me?"

Chuuya hops into his pants and looks up. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Why?"

He shrugs. “He asked me about you once. And I told him.”

“What did you say?”

“What’s with the third degree?”

“Humor me.”

Chuuya slips into his shirt and jacket, straightening up the finer details. “He was asking if I knew someone that could take in this kid for tutoring; he's in business administration or whatever. I said no, I don't know anyone who could tutor a law class but that I did know someone who studies it. He asked me who. I told him your last name and he said he knew you.”

“And then?”

“He asked me what I thought of you.”

Dazai’s stomach bottoms out. He almost doesn’t want to know. “And…?”

Chuuya smiles a little, like he knows something. “I said you're very organized from what I saw. That's it.”

“Is that really it?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Dazai frowns a little, toeing on his shoes without crouching. “No reason.”

“Weirdo.”

They go out and Chuuya pays because he came in late. Once that’s done they go out into the street. Where it is pouring rain. Great.

From his backpack Chuuya takes out a compact umbrella, unfurling it and popping it open. “You don't have an umbrella?” he asks.

Dazai opens his hands by his sides. “Nope.” He only has himself, his phone and his wallet. Oh well. He doesn’t want to wait out what appears to be a full on thunderstorm. Dazai walks out into the street, getting immediately pelted by the rain. He goes to walk home. 

“You'll get wet dumbass!” Chuuya yells over the rain.

Dazai stops and looks over his shoulder. “Oh wow, really?! That never occurred to me!”

Chuuya flushes in anger. “Shut up dick! How are you gonna get home?!”

He shouldn’t be having this conversation while out in the street but whatever. “I'll walk. It's no big deal!”

Chuuya walks out into the rain, remaining dry because he had the good sense to check the weather before leaving home. He lifts his umbrella up a bit to cover Dazai. “I can walk you,” he says at a normal volume now that they’re close.

“Don’t you have tutoring in ten minutes?” he asks, a little endeared.

“Yeah but-“

“Don't worry about it,” he interrupts. Chuuya has actual plans today, he shouldn’t deviate from them for him. “It's fine.”

Chuuya debates for a bit. “Will you at least call a cab or something?”

Dazai doesn’t answer on purpose. “Goodbye Chuuya, run along now.”

He huffs. “Later, dick.”  

The rain comes down harder on his way home and it’s not until he’s thoroughly drenched that he finally gets home. Instead of showering or drying off, Dazai rips off his clothes, changes into dry ones and face plants into his bed, not the least bit worried about catching a cold.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Dazai wakes up congested and miserable the next day.

Who could have predicted this?

In his experience, getting sick used to be such a nice break from things. But ever since he turned eighteen it’s just been a new layer of difficulty to his daily life. A bit of a cold is never enough to cancel plans and it’s always such a drag to get himself a doctor’s note. (When he's actually sick he does try to get the real deal.) He remembers a long time ago when it was only school he’d have to miss and his mom would stay with him and take care of him and they’d watch daytime TV. He’d get so excited over seeing shows he didn’t often get the chance to see because he was usually in school at that time. He’d check the clock and calculate what his classmates would be doing at that exact time.

Today he wakes up to a dry throat and a pounding headache and he knows these twenty-four hours will be hell.

His phone says it’s Tuesday, a bit after seven in the morning. His classes often start at one thirty. He has a final exam today. He was supposed to sit down and pour over notes as much as he could, to make up for yesterday’s little romp and distinct lack of study time. After he left the hotel he’d trudged home in the pouring rain. He’s paying for it now. How is it that ten years ago he could splash around in the rain and get back up the next day, no problem, but nowadays a slight chill and he catches a goddamn cold.

God, he really doesn’t want to make up for another exam, he already skipped the last one.

Okay. It’s already seven which means the maids should be downstairs. He’ll ask if they’ve got any cold medicine left. Last time it’d been Ryuu that got sick, so they’ve got to have something leftover, yeah?

This really fucking sucks.

It’s one thing to stay in bed until he’s one with the sheets out of his own volition, it’s another to be forced to take this shit.

His phone rattles with a new notification. It’s his T.A. letting everyone know of their exam today. Further down he finds an unread message from Chuuya.

>hey i think we took each other’s leftovers by mistake<

>i have your bland ass porridge and not my curry<

Ah. Damn.

>oops?<

>what do you want me to do about it<

The response is immediate.

>take responsibility and give me back whats mine<

>my curry was more expensive than your thing<

Dazai:

>no can do<

>i got sick. Im not leaving my home<

Chuuya:

>oh damn. ok<

>take care of yourself<

>wait do you have medicine? Do you want me to get you something?<

Dazai:

>dont worry about it. We probably have more than enough<

>worry about your exam<

Chuuya:

>if youre sure then ok<

>fine i will. Text me if you need something. Ill be nearby in the afternoon for tutoring so it wont be a problem<

The heat starts from his stomach and migrates upwards. His ears get the worst of it. Ah, a fever. Probably.

>thanks<

Okay, fine. Let's get this over with.

It’s torture to peel himself off the bed, even worse when his frozen toes touch the freezing floor. The pile of wet clothes by his door is a cold, soggy mess. Damn, he should have let them hang in his bathroom. Whatever. Outside he finds the apartment weirdly silent. He hangs on for dear life in the stairs and shuffles to the kitchen as slowly as he can because this headache is getting worse.

Inside the kitchen is one of the maids, drinking her morning tea. She instantly jumps up, stammering about only taking a small break and ‘I’m so sorry!’ He cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it, hey do we have cold medicine?”

She finds the clunky bin they fill with medicine, creams and whatever one may need in case of emergencies. From his reassurance the maid goes back to drinking her tea, this time a little more tense around the edges. Fine, he’ll take his shit and go upstairs. The maids leave around the afternoon, by then he can come back down to eat something before his exam. Inside the plastic bin full of medicine he finds something he hasn’t seen in years. His old nebulizer and the equally dusty aerochamber. He used to have really sucky lungs as a child, the type that made him wheeze in humid weather. It reminds him of his mom weirdly enough. It’s probably because she was the one that took note of the time and made him take his scheduled medicine. She’d sit on his bed, rub a hand over his back and he’d inhale deeply, one, two, three times.

Dazai stuffs a strip of cold medicine in his pants pocket and steals the nebulizer when the maid isn’t looking. She takes the plastic bin back and they both part ways. His bedroom is chilly when he comes back, jesus, had he been sleeping like this?

His bed sheets are cold, a little wet. The pillow is also moist from his wet hair he hadn’t bothered to dry before sleeping. Huh. Okay, maybe it was his fault he got sick.

He takes the first pill dry and throws himself back into bed.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The headache is worse now.

Dazai opens his eyes slowly, rubbing his knuckles around his temples to ease the pain. The reason he woke up out of nowhere is made apparent when someone knocks on his door again. He rises, leaning heavily against his headboard.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

The bedroom door is eased open slowly. It’s one of the maids. In her hands is a tray of smoking soup, with a glass of water. “Excuse me, sorry for waking you up. Us girls are going to take our leave and since you haven’t eaten breakfast or lunch we thought you’d like something light to fill your stomach."

“Oh,” he says. Unexpected. This is really… unexpected. “Sure.”

She smiles. “Excellent. Excuse me.”

The tray is at first placed on an empty corner on his full desk. She takes care to clear a space on his bedside table, getting rid of water bottles he hasn’t thrown away and a few mugs he never tried to take downstairs. After there’s enough space she sets down the tray and smiles apologetically again. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Oh… no, thank you.”

“Alright, take care.”

She leaves.

Sometimes he really hates to wake up to the sun shining punishing rays into his sensitive eyes. Now, he goes to open them and finds a lackluster, humid, climate. He goes back to his bed, trying in vain to bring heat back to his fingers and toes. In silence he brings the bowl of soup to his lap, taking small sips that tastes divine. It could be that he’s starving and this is his first actual meal since yesterday, or it could be that the maids know what they’re doing. Either way Dazai’s stomach growls with a vengeance and he empties the bowl in no time at all. He savors the last sip, scraping the last of it on his spoon.

It’s delicious.

The tray goes back to his bedside table. A new pill is washed down with the water and he goes back to glaring holes at his ceiling. His phone says it’s still Tuesday, now two in the afternoon. His exam has started and probably is about to end. This really blows.

With nothing else to do he kills time by trying to force sleep. He gets a vague approximation some undetermined amount of time later. Half-asleep and half-awake. His phone buzzes in between this limbo. With half-lidded eyes he crawls across his bed, turns on his phone and squints. It's Chuuya, asking what he's doing now. Dazai responds and goes back to sleep. He wakes up fully from the annoyingly persistent buzzing of his phone. He squints at it, finding it's a call. From Chuuya?

"Hello?" 

"Oh, jesus, you sound like hell. Come open the door, jackass. I've been waiting here for ten minutes." 

"Uh, sure."

His feet touching the ground comes with a resounding vibration that goes up his legs and rattles his head. A killer headache is splitting it open. He shuffles out of his room, barely aware of going down the stairs and walking across the living room. He stops, in front of the front door, leaning against the wall right next to it. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then heaves it open. Chuuya is right there, and Dazai has to wonder how the hell he managed to get through the lobby without problem. That's inconsequential, however, seeing as Chuuya here is not empty-handed. He has a plastic bag hanging on his wrist, heavy with something he can't see, distending the bag.

"Hello," Dazai says, and hears his voice being echoed back by Chuuya's phone, which hasn't disconnected the call yet.

Chuuya flips it shut, pocketing it. He's searching him with his eyes.

"You look worse than you sound."

"Tell me what you really think."

Chuuya scoffs a bit, and comes inside, toeing off his shoes. Dazai tries to take his plastic bag but it's swiped out of the way.

"Nuh-uh. A good, stiff wind will knock you over. Just try to get to your room, I'm behind you."

The moment he opens his bedroom door the smell of stuffy sick person becomes a palpable cloud that explodes out. Quickly he goes to open a window, trying not to let his mortification show. Chuuya doesn't react to it, he sits down on the corner of the bed, displaying out the contents of his bag. Pocari sweat, medicine, fever reducers and what looks like a small squishable alien. Dazai looks down at the alien thing, then stares back up at Chuuya.

"What the hell is that."

"It's for stress relief. I know you had an exam today and had to miss it. I hate when I have to miss an exam so I thought—nevermind."

Dazai looks down at the alien again. "Uh-huh." 

Chuuya fusses over his haul, using his hair to hide his face. He puts the alien in his pocket, slipping inside the bed and crossing his legs. Chuuya sits down in front of him, next to all the things he brought. He’s looking at his bedside table with distaste. It’s warranted. The bottles are knocked sideways and the pills are scattered around. Their color being the only differing factor that tells them apart. "When did you last take the other pill?"

"Don’t remember."

"How can you not remember? You have to take these every eight hours or else it won’t work effectively."

"Chuuya is yelling at meee,” he whines, falling back on the bed.

Chuuya scoffs. "I am so not yelling, stop being dramatic."

He huffs, putting hands behind his head. "I dunno, Chuuya, I didn’t check the time. I just take them whenever I wake up from a nap."

"That’s so messed up. It’s a wonder you haven't passed out yet."

"Will Chuuya nurse me back to health?"

"Chuuya is going to leave if you talk like that."

"No fun."

Chuuya leans across the bed to look at the pills, his shirt so loose Dazai can take a brief look at his collarbone. He’s so close Dazai can almost smell him, which could be his imagination since his nose has been plugged up since he woke up. Chuuya steals the pill bottle and the strip of medicine, looking at each one. The strip is for treating his cold and the pill bottle is his antidepressant. Chuuya leaves the cold medicine on the table and starts swiping the antidepressants into his hand so that it can fall back into the bottle. Dazai gets bored of watching and goes back to observing his ceiling. For the next few minutes Chuuya cleans up after his messes, tidying up his bedside table and putting his empty plates away. When he’s done Dazai is about to fall asleep again.

The small strip of cold medicine is dropped right on his sternum, startling him awake. “Why,” he demands plainly.

“Stop stalling, you’re taking the pills,” he orders. “Or I’ll shove them into you.”

“Hot.”

"Dazai," he says in warning.  

He sits up halfway to chug down some water and the pill he was supposed to take a few hours ago. Exhausted, he drops back down on the bed. Chuuya takes that time to put all the stuff he bought on his bedside table.

He honestly feels disgusting. The sweat sticking to his skin is a thin layer he’d love to remove but the shower is so far and somehow he’s both too hot and too cold to even attempt to undress.

“You look miserable.”

“I am.”

“What were you doing to pass the time?” Chuuya looks around, spotting the tower of paperbacks sitting by his desk on the floor. “Done any reading?”

His mom's book inside his desk drawer comes to mind. Dazai swallows, hurting his throat. “Nothing, I was sleeping mostly. And feeling miserable.”

“Okay,” Chuuya says absently. “Well, you can sleep if you want.”

“What about you?” he asks.

Chuuya shrugs. “I have my phone. And my school stuff.”

Dazai doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep with Chuuya in the room but he’ll at least try to fake it. "Okay. "

Chuuya goes to his backpack and takes out a few books, plus his precious tablet. Dazai gets more comfortable under his disgusting sheets, lying on his side.

“Hey,” Chuuya says.

“Hm?” he asks with his eyes closed.

“Can I use your desk?”

Dazai blinks his eyes open. His desk is full of garbage; it’d take a lot of effort to empty just the desk chair full of dirty laundry, let alone the desk. He doesn’t want Chuuya to see any of that.

“Do you need a table to work?” he asks.

“Not really. I can work wherever."

“Sit here,” he says, gesturing at the bed with his eyes.

Chuuya thinks about it, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “Okay,” he says finally.

Dazai drags his body back, leaving a bit of space for Chuuya to take, which he does, sitting down against the headboard. Dazai tries to even out his ragged breathing, attempting to breathe through his nose and not his mouth which is a useless pursuit but it’s something to do at least. His hand inside his pocket squeezes the alien, feeling the slight groves meant to be his eyes.

He watches Chuuya turn on his tablet, placing the book on his lap underneath. For the next few minutes the only sound in his room is the gentle tapping of the stylus on the screen, plus the fluttering of pages being turned. Dazai closes his dry eyes, headache pulsing and nose congested. It’s miserable but it’s also not. Underneath the headache and the inability to even breath without it being a whole ordeal Dazai thinks he can smell the gentle scent of Chuuya’s usual fabric softener. It’s very subtle, and it’s not overpowering at all. Chuuya doesn’t tend to go overboard with cologne.

At complete odds with his appurtenance he actually prefers to be tame with perfumes.

The bed dips a bit when Chuuya slips down a bit on the bed. Dazai opens his eyes, looking through his lashes. The tablet’s brightness is at its lowest, meaning it doesn’t hurt his eyes. Chuuya is concentrated on whatever it is he’s doing, tapping the end of the stylus against his lip. There’s a little mark on his lip, like the type one would get from getting a piercing.

Wow, what a picture. Chuuya with snake bites? How he’d love to lick them, maybe suck on them. Feel the steel in his tongue.

His dick makes a valiant effort to wake up but medication keeps the poor guy down. Dazai takes his mind off Chuuya’s very sexy self by counting prime numbered sheep. It works… somewhat. He keeps trying to find a comfortable position that does not exist in this overly warm and sweaty bed. At one point, once Dazai has turned around and around a few dozen times, Chuuya’s right hand falls on top of his head, scratching his scalp gently.

Dazai freezes.

“This okay?” Chuuya asks without looking.

The spikes of pain from his headache suddenly take a nosedive and Dazai closes his eyes.  “Yeah,” he rasps.

“Okay,” Chuuya says quietly. “Sleep.”

“Okay.”

Dazai doesn’t move again, keeping as still as possible to keep this dream going as far as it will go.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Chuuya’s presence is a balm on his aching body, and it lasts as long as he stays. Not long enough in his opinion. He has to leave a bit after eleven pm so that he can catch the last train.

Still groggy, Dazai tries to get up to see him off but Chuuya waves him off, gathering his things into his backpack with ease. Dazai stares while on his side.

“Are you sure?” Dazai asks quietly, still a little tired and sleepy.

When he was woken up by the most gentle nudge to his shoulder Chuuya made him swallow more pills, and at least two full gulps of the sports drink he brought. The fever reducers were not used because Dazai's temperature toed the line but never went over it. He'll just put it in the medicine container. 

“I’m sure,” Chuuya says, exasperated. “Just rest, alright?”

Dazai frowns.

Chuuya is about to leave when Dazai gets this gnawing urge to say something stupid. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much fun today,” he says, awfully, disgustingly sincere.

Chuuya laughs, his eyes crinkled at the edges. Beautiful. Radiant. “I came to take care of you, you idiot. Now rest, take your medicine and get better, you hear?”

“Hear hear.” He does a mock salute.

Chuuya leaves after that and Dazai falls into fitful sleep.

The next day he wakes up just as sick as the day before. The day follows the same timeline of events that happened the day before, with a slight deviation. Chuuya doesn’t come to visit him. He texts constantly and reminds him to take his damn pills but other than that Chuuya has got an exam the next day that he can’t miss. Dazai tries to act as casual about it as he can but then evening falls and it’s dark and quiet in his house and suddenly Dazai isn’t that okay anymore.

Solitude is the fertilizer to his self-hatred.  With his own company there’s no one to absorb his poison and his only victim is himself.

The maids get him some more food and he eats halfheartedly, leaving most of it untouched. It tastes like chalk in his mouth anyway. By giving it to him it’s a waste of perfectly good food.

Mori comes to visit him at night, knocking softly on his door and entering without a response. They talk and Mori asks about his condition, what he’s taking, if he’s eating, what he’s been doing. Dazai answers with short, clipped answers he doesn’t mean and Mori huffs in exasperation before leaving. Mori has no need to say what he’s thinking, it’s painfully apparent in the displeased downturn of his lips and the way he curtly says goodbye. Dazai's bad mood and inability to put on a nice façade with his step dad has cost them another day at odds with each other. Once again he fucks up.

He knows Mori was being nice by coming in to see how he’s doing but the irritability always gets the better of him, immune as they are to good intentions.

He’s a little glad his brother doesn’t come by, knowing full well Dazai’s venom will lash out and hurt him. But he’s also downtrodden as well, seeing such express evidence of how little he matters.

Distantly, he knows it’s illogical to want sympathy from the person he has tormented before. All that does is make him hate himself more for wishing his brother would come visit. After everything they’ve been through and all their differences, Dazai is still somehow hoping Ryuu looks beyond it. How selfish and immature is that? His selfish wants have never followed logic and they won’t start now. The self-hatred grows, feeding on his silence, his solitude. Growing stronger as Dazai feeds it more fuel, more examples of his detestable character. Without anyone to put a stop to it, without a person to bounce off his self-inflicted loathing, Dazai’s disgust at himself grows.

Day three he’s doing better, physically at least.

Emotionally…

Hm.

The idea of cutting deep lines into his legs and arms is so tempting he has to distract himself. Chuuya, always nice and kind, keeps him company through the phone, doing his best to be there. He even follows him to the shower again. The dark clouds part momentarily when the shorty speaks of stupid classmates and annoying teachers. Dazai allows no indication of his spiral to show, masking the red flags through the tried and true method of deflection and jokes. It’s not fair to want Chuuya to see past his feeble attempts, but Dazai hopes anyway. Imagining a scenario where someone, anyone, gives a damn.

One reaps what they sow, and for years Dazai has only sowed hatred.

Irritable, moody Dazai.

Sensitive, toxic Dazai.

Who the hell would want to give him the time of day?

Day four he really can’t take it anymore, he doesn’t like this. He wants to go away forever and never come out. This sucks, it really does. He hates himself and he hates his situation and he hates that he hates it. It makes no sense and that drives him crazy. This sucks, it sucks so much.

By day four he’s healthy once more, though he hasn’t come out the other side unscathed. A roll of fresh bandages sees use for the first time since Dazai met Chuuya. It had been so long that the white gauze had started gathering dust in his bathroom cabinet.

Ah, well. There goes his streak.

Mori’s doctor’s note justifies all his absences and Dazai presents them to the main office of his university to be filed and given to his professors.

His shitty luck fucks him over yet again. Out of everyone, Ranpo somehow finds him, stopping him just shy of the door.

“Hey! There you are!”

Dazai stops like a deer in headlights, right in front of the exit, allowing Ranpo to catch up to him. He steps to the side to allow people to walk inside, without blocking the door.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he frowns. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dazai says. “I didn’t.”

Ranpo observes him carefully. “So, what’s your answer?”

He knows what the answer should be; he knows what Oda would tell him to say. But he can’t bring himself to say it.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know?” Ranpo repeats incredulously. “How can you not know?”

“I just don’t,” he says sharply.

Ranpo isn’t intimidated. “I think you should do it.”

"Oh my god!" Dazai explodes, laughing cruelly. “What is your deal with making me do this? Do you really not want to work that much?”

Ranpo doesn’t raise a brow at his loud voice, even as Dazai wants to bury himself alive from the looks people around them are giving him. He wants to die.

“It’s not that,” Ranpo says calmly, exuding the air of those scary professors that put the fear of god in their students without even raising their voices.

From what Dazai has seen of the T.A., Ranpo has never given off the appearance of someone his age. More often than not he’s the one acting obnoxiously during class, eating chips and playing games on his phone. If one didn’t know they’d think he was the resident class clown and not an undergraduate looking for extra credits. At the moment he’s looking as far away from that persona as possible. For once, he actually looks his age.

“Why do you keep asking me then?”

Ranpo’s eyes flicker and pierce through the sleeve of Dazai's heavy jacket, pinning down the spot where he cut too deep last night. “I know the signs,” he says cryptically.

Dazai breaks out into a cold sweat. “What?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s none of my business, or anyone’s.”

“If It’s not your business then why-“

“It’d do you good,” he interrupts. “Trust me on this. Just try it a few times—three times. This Atsushi kid I told you about, I think you’ll like him. He’s funny in an unintentional way. You’ll get a kick out of it. At least I do.” Dazai just wants this to end, he wants to go home. He wants to drop dead. Ranpo takes his silence as a yes. “I’ll send you the info, alright? Anyways, I’ve gotta get to class now. Later.”

He leaves.

Dazai goes home in silence. It’s Friday. Tomorrow he has another session with Oda. He’s not looking forward to telling him what he got up to this week. Especially…

The bandages on his arm start to itch.

His latest box cutter is broken inside his bathroom trashcan, hidden underneath clean wads of toilet paper.

He sleeps away the rest of the day. It’s only once he’s about to fall asleep a third time, sometime before five in the morning, that he realizes, oh, yeah. He hasn’t been taking his pills.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Dazai,” Odasaku says calmly. “What happened?”

Dazai woke up Saturday with a pounding headache that hasn’t gone away quite yet. When he had the bottle of migraine medication in his hand he’d passively thought about chugging down the entire supply. Odasaku is staring at him and Dazai is avoiding it as best he can. He has had plenty of practice with avoiding and now his expertise is being put to the test.

The stinging wounds on his arms scream in pain when he moves, forcefully bringing attention to his failings.

It’s impossible to miss the long sleeves and the bandages peeking out of the ends. He reeks of antiseptic and there are dark circles under his eyes like bruises. He has that hollow air that people are so uncomfortable with. The maids avoided him this morning and Ryuu said nothing on his way out the door. He hasn’t looked once at his messages, knowing he’ll find inane texts that have nothing to do with him and the odd message from Chuuya, the one person in his life that has no idea what he’s getting into.

Someone so perfect and good hanging out with him, what is he doing with Dazai?

“What happened?” Odasaku asks again.

“I did it again,” he says. “It was my longest streak.”

Of not cutting he adds in his head. Of abstaining from destructive habits.

An entire month and he got through it alright. Until now.

He could almost be proud if he could feel anything at all. As it stands he’s a black hole, unknowable and dark.

"How have you been feeling these past few days?"

Oda already knows everything that has gone wrong in his week, Dazai just told him, so the question has more to do with overall mood in spite of the hindrances to his routine. “I hate everything and everything feels wrong.”

“You’re generalizing again.”

That’s something they have to work on from time to time, Dazai’s instinct to catastrophize.

Oda writes something down on his tablet. Huh, that's the first time Dazai has seen him do that. “When do you have an appointment to meet with your psychiatrist?” he asks.

“I don’t know, next week probably. Why?”

“I think It’d be a good idea to raise your concerns with her, about your mood swings.”

“We talked about changing my antidepressants last time.” Oda gestures with his hand in a ‘there you go’ gesture. “I don’t want to change again.”

Another antidepressant, another set of symptoms. He’s tired of trying again and again.

Dazai massages his temple. “The pills are supposed be a tool to help me, and therapy is supposed to be what will help me deal with my shit, right?”

“Yes.”

“This will be the fourth damn time I have to change antidepressants. What’s another one going to change when I’m the problem?”

“What makes you say you’re the problem?”

“Common denominator,” he shrugs. “I’m the unchanging variable.”

Oda turns off the tablet, setling it on the tablet between them. “You’re looking at it in the wrong way. You see yourself as a problem that needs to be solved but that’s not the case. By using your analogy, you can’t force an equation to make sense; you have to solve it with what you’ve got, yes?"

“Yeah, I guess.”

“The fact that you’re the unchanging variable doesn’t make you the problem in solving it. The problem is everything else. The antidepressants aren’t clicking into place, they’re not balancing things out in your head. They are the ones that are supposed to adapt to you, not the other way around. Dazai you’re doing what you’re supposed to. You come every week to talk to me, and you put effort into the things you want to change.”

“I don’t see what’s so great about what I do.”

Oda frowns a little. “You can’t see your progress from where you’re standing, Dazai, but I can. And you’ve come very far since you first came to see me.”

“I don't think so.”

“Believe me. You are doing well.”

“You say that because I'm paying you to fix me.”

“That’s not-“

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says quickly.

Dazai can’t tell what Oda thinks of this because he’s trying very hard not to look at him. In the end Oda says, “Okay, let’s talk about something else.”

It’s Oda who ends up talking most of their remaining hour, going on and on about a book he’s reading and what he thinks about it. He can probably sense in the toxic air around Dazai that making him talk won’t work in his favor. By the end of their hour Dazai is itching to go away. He gets up, says,  'see you next week' and leaves. Once more, he has this entire Saturday for himself and nothing to occupy it. 

He goes home, knowing full well that’s a sure fire way of flushing the entire day down the toilet. No one bothers him when he goes through the door and up to his room.

He’s at a standstill in the middle of his room, backpack hanging from one shoulder, staring into space. The mess is so complete it'd be easier to point out the clean places. He catalogues where everything would go if he had the energy to do anything about it. His eyes stop at his desk, specifically the drawers he shut under lock and key a long time ago.

The backpack thumps on the ground, he steps around the dirty clothes. The desk is the steady foundation of a mountain of papers, binders and more clothes. The lock of the drawer is hidden underneath the long sleeve of a jacket he forgot about. The mess is swiped off to the side carelessly, rumpling on the floor, pens and pencils clattering. From a forgotten cup of markers he dumps the contents and digs out the key that has been left there just as long as the book. He takes out the key and silently digs it into the lock, turning it and opening it up.

The book is right there, all nice and clean—brand new.

He leafs through it idly, watching the mass of text blur together. It stops on the back of the flimsy paper cover and the message written there by a black fountain pen. He reads through the short message and reads it again.

And he laughs. Quietly at first, then louder, until he has to muffle the sound behind the back of his hand. He laughs and laughs and his eyes sting.

The desk chair is still taken up by clothes and garbage, so instead of making more of a mess by swiping it to the side, Dazai drops to the floor, knees up to his chest and the book opened up to the short message.

It’s been years since he last read something out of pleasure, as opposed to the unrelenting list of required readings ordered by his professors.

Dazai flips to the first real page, past the author biography and begins to read.

‘It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.’

And he doesn’t stop.